


I Just Want You

by fan_of_interest



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, post-Samaritan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:51:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fan_of_interest/pseuds/fan_of_interest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>:: Post-Samaritan where Root and the rest of Team Machine still works with numbers and Shaw lives a new life with missing memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. \\Asset Sameen Shaw Located

“Miss Groves. Mr. Reese. Welcome back.” His voice carries steadily throughout the silent subway as his two associates walk down the stairs, sending him their greetings. He had seen their silhouettes from his computer screen, and had faced towards them when his screen turned back to its normal busy interface. To be honest, he was a little jumpy. Just a few seconds ago, he was immersed in his work when a message popped up on the monitors.        

 

            _\\\ Asset Sameen Shaw located_

 

He was not sure what he was going to do with the information She had given him. His eyes stared up at them, and for a second, he felt the need to say something. But what would he say? The Machine knew that they were coming, but if She wanted them to know, She could have easily told Root about the news. Whatever the Machine was thinking, Harold momentarily could not comprehend.

 

The Machine, although alive and well, was still trying to learn her way back into the world after all. It had only been a few weeks since the war ended. It was an eternal victory to Team Machine, shutting Samaritan down, his original Claypool drives now located in the sealed drawer of Harold’s workspace. As for Greer and his associates… that was a story to be told another time.

 

“Threat came from his boss who he stole money from. Boss had been associated with drug traffickers. We had a run-in with Elias so we made it look like a territory dispute. The boss has been taken in the 8th and,” John continues, “Narcotics got this one since there were no casualties.” He walks to a chair near his inventory, taking apart his gun and started cleaning it. If they had noticed Harold’s tense posture, they either attributed it to his back problem or ignored it since they knew that if he wanted to talk about it, then he would. Either way, they did not comment.

 

“You would be real proud of the big lug, Harry. He didn’t shoot anyone today.” Root said sweetly though her smile did not quite reach her eyes. Harold knew she was really tired.

 

When they had cleaned out the big chunks of Samaritan’s mess, they had expected to at least come across any trace of Shaw. The last time they had seen the former ISA operative, the Machine had given up her location to Samaritan. At that time, with Shaw out of reach, they could only focus on saving the Machine. At least they knew that Shaw was alive then. Now, they were not sure, at least, everyone except Harold.

 

“Miss Groves.” He began but found Root’s head tilted to the right, her tired eyes lifting up a bit at the voice of her majesty.

 

“Sorry, Harry. She wants me somewhere to prepare for a new identity.” Root said, her attention focused on him for a bit before the Machine spoke again in her ear.

 

“She said I can check back several times in the next few weeks. Apparently, this identity needs more authenticity.” She says before going over to one part of the subway pass the cot, where a separate firearm inventory sits in the dust. His eyes trails on the guns she holds tightly in her pale hands. Shaw’s favorite pair of USP Nanos. Movement from near his desk caught his eyes. Bear looked up from his feet, watching Root walk in the only place that contains Shaw’s faint scent. When it seemed like whoever was Bear waiting for was not coming, Bear stood up and went over to John, lying down on his left foot.

 

Harold turns his attention back at his monitor, now displaying his college gradebook. He looks over at the pile of papers on one side of his table. It was going to be a long night. A small notification pops on the bottom right of his screen.      

 

            _\\\ Analog Interface requires a medium-sized canine to assist_

_\\\ Booth left of Professor Whistler’s apartment, 21:00_

 

Harold looks at the clock. He had ample of time to get to his cover’s apartment. He stood up, tidying up papers and textbooks, putting them in his bag.

 

“I’ll see you later, Harry. John.” Root says, emerging from the inventory room with what looked like a baggage full of arsenal. John stares at the bag.

 

“That’s a lot of fire power. Sure you don’t need any help with it?” John inquires. Root smiles a smile she had begun to direct towards Reese. It was platonic, like one would share with one’s significant other’s sibling.

 

“No need to worry about me, John. And don’t worry, Harry. When things go… pear-shaped, She said that She’ll relay the message.” Root moves away from her carrier towards Bear. Harold straightens up as Bear sits up from his position in John’s feet and moves closer to feel Root’s hands on his head.

 

“Oh, Miss Groves. I think for the time being, Bear would have to stay with you. Professor Whistler will be going on conferences at the end of this week and Detective Riley will be preoccupied in the precinct since Detective Fusco has been assigned to help out with an investigation upstate. I would appreciate it if you could take him for tonight and I will make sure that his belongings are prepared by tomorrow night.” Harold could feel John’s look, but he focused his attention on Root. Fortunately, Root didn’t have time to ask about it when Bear started circling around her, probably interested at the hacker’s company. It wasn’t often that Bear got to spend with the only person imprinted with a substantial amount of the ex-ISA and Persian sociopath’s scent. In the hacker’s clothes, and sometimes even her skin, Bear could smell traces of a familiar friendly scent.

 

“Looks like you’re stuck with me. Want to get out of here?” Root asks. Bear looks at her intently at her question. Harold studies Bear’s countenance; Bear seemingly lost in thought as he tilts his head. It was gone in a few as he ran over to his bed and took his leash. Bear stops to look over at Harold and then at John. The two nod and Bear runs ahead of Root, towards the stairs, stopping just before the steps, realizing that Root had yet to start moving.

 

“Take care, Miss Groves.” Root nods before taking Bear and his leash up and out the subway station. As Harold turns back to fixing his things, he hears John walk towards him.

 

“Finch, Lionel’s not going upstate. I could have taken care of Bear if you were busy.” John tries to meet his eyes, but Harold continues packing. “Harold-”

 

“The Machine said Miss Groves needed Bear for her mission. I was merely assisting.” Harold faces John. “Whatever it is that the Machine is telling her to work on, I do not know about it, but if she needs Bear, then he is more useful with her than with us. You can handle your own, Mr. Reese. And if I get into trouble, the Machine will just send you to get me.”

 

John stares down at him, as if searching Harold for something. It seems that he found it because he nods and walks over to get his now clean guns. He clips his badge on his belt.

 

“I’ll give you a ride home, Professor Whistler.” And with that, Harold feels a light, familiar feeling as he and John walk out from the shadows into the world.

 

 

 

            _\\\ Locating Asset Sameen Shaw_

 

A street camera blinks red to the balcony of a one-bedroom apartment. A figure sits relaxed on one of the three-piece seating set chairs. Orange juice sits on a coaster on top of the small brown table and a light breeze blows the woman’s wavy brown locks. Her deep brown eyes stare long into the night city. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she closes her eyes, letting her mind wander.

 

She frowns at the unfamiliarity of her own skin. There were old scars and new ones that she had sustained before the time she woke up, both of which were lost to her on how she got them. She had been in the military before, as was stated by this woman who came to see her while she was healing in the hospital.

 

 _‘Agent Shaw.’_ _The familiarity of the title was there, but the woman’s tone lacked something. Whatever it was, she assumed it stemmed from their boss and associate relationship. The woman was stoic, just like her, as she stood at the foot of the hospital bed. She wasn’t sure why but she felt that there was something in the woman’s eyes that she sure was not there often. Was it regret? Regret for what?_

 

_‘I am sure you have a lot of questions.’ The understatement of the century and the woman in the bed felt the need to roll her eyes but she didn’t. She didn’t know who she was and if the other woman knew, she was determined on finding out._

 

_‘Your name is Sameen Shaw. Here are your birth records and your records of service in the government,” a file was placed at the bedside table._

 

_“Here is a phone you will want to keep. Though, even if you lose it, another one will be sent to replace it right away.” A phone was placed down within her reach._

 

_“It is imperative that you trust whoever contacts you through this, Agent Shaw.” The woman looked straight at her briefly before moving back to the foot of the bed._

 

_“You have done a marvelous job, Agent Shaw. The nation is greatly indebted to soldiers like you. Myself, included.” The woman in the bed kept quiet, still getting used to her own name._

 

_‘Shaw?’ she thought to herself. She turned her eyes back to the woman and waited for her to continue._

 

_“There are ways to contact me, in case you are interested in serving the country again. However, I will not hold it against you if you choose otherwise. In case you do decide to do so once more, then just press this button,” the woman said, holding the phone, “and type in ‘I5A’.”_

 

 

The woman had left soon after and did not appear again. Shaw, as she was told to have addressed herself, drew a blank for the most parts of her life. Apparently, the military had been her life after her time in the medical profession. The file that Control, which was how the woman in the hospital referred to herself, left with her had basic information. However, if Shaw was being honest, it really did not help explain her life now. Sure, it was a file that they compiled for her, unsurprisingly from birth to her services in the ISA, but she did not understand why they did so. If it was true that she worked for the government, especially the most secretive agency of the United States, then it would have been easier to keep their existence from her and let her start a new life with a new identity. She could not remember the exact guidelines, but she was sure that while it was important that they monitored their agents, it was not necessary to meet with them face to face.

 

Shaw rubbed her temple and reached for the glass and sipped some of the now lukewarm citrus juice. She made a face and paused. For some reason lost on her, frowning was natural. She had looked through her photos and saw that she rarely smiled. Now, with a huge weight of secrecy and anonymity off her shoulders, there really was no reason to frown. She was being provided for with a check every month and her stay in the apartment she was currently staying in was of no concern for her. Once in a while, groceries would be delivered to her house and she would busy herself with cooking. Okay, so frowning _and_ food were natural.

 

Her eye catches a red dot and sees a camera on one side of the building to her left. She sits up to look at it and it blinks once, twice and then none.

 

‘Did it turn off?’ Shaw thought to herself. She stared at it for a long while before it blinked red again, and then turned off, like that of a child who would occasionally sneak glances and then turn away when caught. She frowned at the absurdity of the thought. A breeze blew particularly coldly and she tugs her hoodie closer to her body. She thinks of the case file which sits on her bed several feet away from where she currently sits. The final page talks about the death of her partner, Michael Cole, and nothing else. As to what happened from the rest of 2013 to the present, she does not know.  

 

            _\\\ Monitoring asset_       

             _\\\ Accessing simulations_

            _\\\ Compiling asset file_  

            _\\\ Contacting Admin…_

 

 

 


	2. \\Father

Harold turns to the phone booth left of his apartment. Reese had driven off a few minutes ago to his own cover apartment. It rang once, twice, and Harold walked over to it.

 

            _\\\ Good evening, Admin_

 

He looks up at a camera not far from his position.

 

“I assume you want to tell me about Ms. Shaw?” He asks quietly, in a volume he knows the Machine will be able to pick up. Since Samaritan’s shutdown, Harold has become more relaxed and the Machine freely speaks to them more often than She had compared to when Samaritan was still online. However, Harold Finch was still a very private person, and the existence of the Machine was still a secret to the whole world.

 

            _\\\ What should I do?_

 

Her question surprised him. As he had programmed her, She was left to Her own devices to make the choices after going through countless of probabilities, and not once in the past had She raised such a question to anyone, not even to Her maker. 

 

“I programmed you to make the decisions for yourself. And while I understand the need to assure us that Ms. Shaw is alive, I do not understand the need to keep it from Miss Groves.”

 

            _\\\ I made a choice_

 

“What do you mean?”

 

            _\\\ Asset was recovered a month before Samaritan was shutdown_

 

“You mean, she was already safe from Samaritan when-”    

 

            _\\\ Yes. That is why assets were unable to find her_

 

“I still do not understand. Why?”     

 

            _\\\ I wanted to give Asset a new life, but I…_

 

Harold waited. Ever since She was reprogrammed, not only had She acted more like Her old self, independent, but She was also more open to the team. She talked regularly with Root, as Harold observed since Root would have that special glint in her eyes. Harold would get notifications from the Machine after She had given them the day’s number. Sometimes, John would get to play God-mode as well. However, the most surprising change with Her was –         

 

            _\\\ Father…_

 

That. At night, She would worm Her way in one of Harold’s computers in the subway, or his laptop at the apartment, and bid him a good night with that term of endearment. Finch realized that he had bridged the gap between him and the Machine when She had almost died. Of course, She had kept Her familial interactions with him to a minimum; She respected the distance he had placed between them and only acted within the bounds.          

 

            _\\\ Did I do wrong?_

 

“What were you thinking?”   

 

            _\\\ Since recovery from the hospital, Asset was placed in XX building. Identity was maintained, but Asset is being crafted a new identity. Health, monitored. Safety – assured._

 

“It is no assurance for Root. She has the right to know about Sameen.”      

 

            _\\\ Analog Interface will know in due time. Admin must initiate contact with Asset_

 

Harold blinked slowly, allowing the words to register.

 

“What?”

 

            _\\\ Admin must initiate contact with Asset. You have taught me about free will_

 

“Your purpose was to protect people. You were designed for that very purpose. You cannot play with their feelings, or play favorites.” Harold frowned. This was not supposed to be. She was designed to treat everyone as equally important. Those that She kept close, like their team, She absolutely could not treat as special.

 

“Miss Groves will listen to whatever you say. To her, you are her god. If you had thought of her feelings, you would have at least told her that Sameen was alive.” Harold sighed. He knows that She had seen most of Root since that day at the Stock Exchange until Her temporary trial runs, even to the present day.

 

“You should know better.”    

 

            _\\\ I am sorry_

 

“What was the purpose of this call?” Finch looked up at the camera once more. It blinked back at him, and stayed a solid red.      

 

            _\\\ I am sorry_

 

And with that, the call had ended. The camera’s red light was no longer visible and there was only the wind blowing the leaves around. Harold carefully placed the phone back on its holder and limped away to his apartment. He went through his evening ritual, setting his laptop on his bedside table. He sat under his covers, pondering about the exchange between him and the Machine.

 

The Machine was evolving in ways he could not have imagined. He did not understand. Why did the Machine give Shaw her “life” back? A new life would have been more peaceful, trouble and worry-free. In fact, there was an even better of a chance to a normal life with a new identity, crafted to weave the best of illusions that humans indulge themselves in. Harold feels his body shake from the chill. It was like he was chosen to be part of some match-making set up between friends. If the Machine was a real person, She would be the friend that keeps all of them together, the one that connects every single one of them to Her and Harold.

 

In all honesty, it does feel as domestic as it could be for their line of work. He was the creator, the father. The Machine was his creation, the daughter. Root was the Machine’s friend or an adopted sister, even cousin, not always a good influence, but will go to lengths to protect and help Her. Mr. Reese and Ms. Shaw were the Mayhem Twins who managed to worm their way into the family. Both were a couple of trouble makers themselves, but they were the protectors. They did the protecting.

 

‘But to what lengths?’ Harold knew that protecting took a great deal of strength and loyalty as well as love – at the mention of the word, he could imagine Sameen rolling her eyes – and they were now what he could reluctantly say as the strangest but one of the most beautiful definitions of family. His thoughts were broken as he finds his laptop automatically executing commands on his command line interface. He quickly placed it on his lap and looked at it with careful scrutiny. It was definitely not being hacked so his body relaxed a bit, but what he saw surprised him.

 

            _\\\ Granting Admin God-mode Access through Contingency_

             _\\\ Displaying Core Code for inspection_

 

With that, Harold runs his eyes over familiar codes that fly through the screen. They were his original code, the code he used to build the Machine, from the beginning to the most recent changes. There was nothing wrong with the code. He navigated around to inspect other parts and still there was nothing wrong. He went back to Her system code, and his eyes caught one folder that seemed new but subtly out-of-place.

 

            _\\\ Displaying…_

 

The screen cleared off and a bunch of code started typing itself in intervals. Line after line, character after character, they filled his laptop’s screen slowly and he read them. He did not write this code and he scanned each new line, but it did not make sense.

 

‘Did Root add lines to Her core code?’ Finch couldn’t help but wonder. They certainly argued a long while when he and Root were trying to fix the Machine. However, at that time, the Machine Herself made it perfectly clear that She did not want Her core code altered. Any changes, She had requested, were to be made in a folder She had allocated for updates in Her system. Both he and Root were only able to code around each other. The Machine made sure of that.

 

            _Ping!_

 

Harold looked down at the finished display of code and at first, it was like the first time he saw it. It did not make any sense. He frowned and adjusted his glasses.          He read through it again and again and even after an hour, it did not make sense. His eyes felt tired.

 

            _\\\ Has Admin finished code inspection? Y/N_

 

>> Y

 

            _\\\ Is there anything wrong with the core code? Y/N_

 

>> N

 

            _\\\ Terminate God-mode Access for now? Y/N_

 

Finch paused for a bit. If he asked Her question, would She answer with a straight answer? He looked back at the Machine’s interface.

 

“What was that folder for?”  He tried.

 

            _\\\ ..._

            _\\\ …_

            _\\\ Core Memory_

            _\\\ Terminate God-mode Access for now? Y/N_

 

            Even though the Machine’s answer only brought up more questions than straightforward answers, He decided to let it go.

 

>> Y

 

            _\\\ God-mode Access terminated_

             _\\\ Good night, Father_

 

With that, Finch decided to put his laptop back on the table, setting his glasses next to it, and laying under the covers. After a few minutes, he fell into sleep as the day’s work washed over him. His phone buzzed once, a sign that it had been a message from the Machine, but whatever it was about, he would have to check it in the morning to figure it out.

 

 

 

 

            _\\\ Locating Analog Interface_

 

Bear could feel the cold, hard pavement under his paws. He and one of his pack mates were walking along nicely under the clear night sky. He would look up now and then and his eyes would be fixated on the glittering dots. Every few seconds, he would return his gaze on the road before them to check any difference. There was not a lot of people around.

 

“Oh. Hi, there.” Bear looks up at the woman who currently holds his leash. She seems to be talking to someone, but there is no device that he could see or anyone in front of them. It has always been like this though so to him, it was nothing unnatural. He stopped walking when he realized that she paused when she spoke.

 

“You seem to be more chatty, not that I mind.” She started walking again, securing the big bag on her right shoulder, and Bear follows, trying to make sense of a language that is slowly growing on him.

 

“I’m thinking of making a quick stop tonight. Send the location to me tomorrow?” Bear would not admit that he did not understand the exchange. For some reason, with this woman, he never knew what was being said. Not that English was still a mystery to him, far from that, but he could not hear the other party. What he does know from this one-sided conversation is that they are headed to a familiar place, judging from the way his paws remember the steps of this apartment they are heading into.

 

Bear subtly remembers making sure that he does not make loud noises as his paws make contact with the tiles. There had been a mat near the door and before his pack mate could continue walking again, he made sure to wipe his feet. Oh. He remembers now. Dogs like him were not allowed to stay in this particular building. He remembers going to this apartment several times; usually, he was whisked away from the alpha with the promise of long pettings and a warm bed.

 

“Here we are.” He hears her say as she turned the door knob and led him inside. Once they were in, she made an action around his neck, and when she straightened up and walked in the apartment, he started sniffing around the place. There was that friendly scent again. He looked around and found the woman heading straight to what he remembers as the bedroom. Bear walks after her, sniffing the place with each step. Energy courses through him as the scent becomes a little stronger and he runs to the room.

 

“Hey, Bear.” He looks around the room, moving so he could see every corner. She has to be here right? The room was dark but the city lights from the outside casted a sort-of night light in the room. He was sure that there was nothing wrong with his eyes. Why could he not see her? He whines.

 

“Bear…” He turns to the woman who now sits on the floor with her back leaning on the side of the bed. His ears fold down, and he slowly walks to the space next to the woman. Before he sits down, he puts a paw on the edge of the bed and the familiar scent enters his nose.  He was so excited before that he did not notice. The scent was almost a year old. He feels thin, slender fingers running through his fur, generating some heat, and he could not help himself when he let out a sad whine.

 

“I know… I miss her so much.” He did not forget. He missed her too. He lifts his head from the foot of the mattress and he looks up at the woman. Her cheeks were a little wet and she was sniffling. This was the first time he saw her like this, and while he had not been prepped for this, he does have an idea of what he could do. He moves so that he could put his head on her shoulder and he feels her arms go around him. It was not suffocating, but he feels that it was the right thing to do.

 

He doesn’t move from his spot for a while, feeling the woman’s body tremble lightly, like she was still holding in more than a year’s anguish. She doesn’t let it out. She controls it. He doesn’t know the meaning behind human behavior, but he knows that it is even more tiring to hold it all in. It’s like the feeling he has when he was a young pup with his siblings, eager to obey commands, but with all the displaced energy, his tail ends up wagging despite his control. No, that was not an accurate example, but it was still misplaced energy.  He moves back a little so he could see her face. The familiar and friendly woman always looked at him in the eyes. Maybe that could work on this woman as well. He meets her eyes for a second and the woman lets out a short, sad chuckle.

 

“Sorry, Bear. But Sameen would be jealous if I cried over your shoulder.” Bear nudges her hand at the mention of the Persian’s name.

 

“We’re getting her back. I know she’s still alive.” The last thing Bear remembers that night was the typing noises from this metal notebook that the woman has on her lap as he lay on the foot of the bed.

 

 


	3. \\I5A

Root is currently in her cover apartment with Bear. She lives extravagantly in a high rise. The lights are streaming in the room and she is seated in the couch in the living room. Bear is chewing on one of his toys and the squeaky noises sound along typing sounds from Root’s own activity. She smiles at the new code She had told her to complete and proceeds to call Harold’s phone.

 

“Hi, Harry. Just checking in.”

 

“How are you doing, Miss Groves?” Root tilts her head in amusement.

 

“Miss me, Harry?” She says jokingly, more of a habit, a memory of old times than a challenge of trust.

 

“I am always concerned, Miss Groves.”

 

“I know and I am happy for that. I just finished a new batch of code. Want me to drop it over?”

 

“That would be appreciated. I assume Bear is on his best behavior?” Root looked over to Bear to find him looking at her intently. She puts her phone on speaker and Bear automatically moves closer to listen.

 

“Say hi to Uncle Harry, Bear.” She playfully says as Bear lets out a whine and a little bark.

 

“Who’s a good boy?” Harold’s voice is light and almost sweet. Suddenly, Root wonders why is it that Bear gets to receive all these tones of affection. She realizes this and shakes her head incredulously. She is not jealous of a dog.

 

“I’ll bring him since he’s been missing you. See you soon, Harry.” With little preparation, she and Bear are out of the high rise and on their way to the subway station. They move around the crowd anonymously until they are alone in front of a vending machine.

 

“Ready, Bear?” She asks as Bear sits attentively. She punches in the code and they proceed inside.

 

“Harry?” She calls out.

 

“Right here, Miss Groves.” Harold appears on his desk across the subway car and greets Bear with a pat on the head when the dog came over. Root puts the USB on Harold’s desk and soon enough, the Machine started beeping in her ear.

 

            _\\\ Relevant number, Upstate, NY_

_\\\ Alias: Augusta King activated_

 

Root lets out a sigh, causing Harold to look at her. She gives him a small smile and moves to the opposite side of the subway.

 

“I have a relevant number, Harry. I’ll drop by later for Bear. If I’m not back by 7, then She could give you my address. Or tell the big lug to drop him off there.” She takes out her FBI badge from the drawers. Harold watches Root silently and Bear nudges at him, sniffing him. He looks down when Bear whines.

 

“Bear?” He asks, but the dog only nudges at his suit. Harold looks at Bear intently.

 

“Keep a secret for me?” He whispers as he sits down at his chair and Bear looks up at him expectantly. He holds Bear’s face in his hands.

 

“She’s okay.” He whispers in Dutch. Just then, Root’s heels click on the pavement. He turns to her.

 

“Oh, and I think She wants you to look into an Alfred Harris. He might be your next number.” Root says as she moves to pet Bear and gives Harold a piece of paper.

 

“Stay safe, Miss Groves.”

 

“I’ll see you later, Harry. And you too, for you conference tomorrow.” She says before smiling sweetly at Harold and going out of the subway. He hears John’s voice echo in the subway. When the ex-CIA comes to view, Bear moves to greet John and Harold gives him a smile.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Reese.”

 

“Morning, Harold. Need a ride to LA tomorrow?” John asks, to which Harold nods in reply.

 

“Yes, Professor Whistler will be gone for the weekend, but I trust that the Machine will send you the numbers for the time being. Speaking of which…” Harold trails off as he looks up an Alfred Harris’s identity along with the SSN that Root provided earlier

 

“We have a new number. Alfred Harris. It seems that we have another teacher in our hands.”

 

“Run a thorough background check on this one, Finch. We wouldn’t want another organized crime boss in our hands. Dealing with one is enough.” John laughs and Harold smiles as they both remember Carl Elias, an outlier who is now back in power.

 

“I assure you, Mr. Reese. The chance of another Mr. Elias is very slim. If anything, maybe Mr. Harris crossed paths with a few of Dominic’s old friends, maybe even the cartel.”

 

“Are you guessing, Finch?” Harold smiles at John’s light-hearted tone and proceeds to give him Harris’s current location.

 

“I will be on comms until noon so I can pack for the conference. Miss Groves will also be dropping by for Bear later. She says the Machine will give you her address if her mission is not done by 7.” He prints a picture of Alfred Harris and sticks it on their board. John looks at it.

 

“I just saw this guy over at the Russian’s.” John frowns before he moves to the gun lockers and takes a spare magazine.

 

“Please try not to cause too much uproar.” Harold reminds but by John’s smile, it seems that the least of an uproar John could cause is the front page of NY Times.

 

“No promises, Harold. I’ll see you later.” With that, John leaves the subway, his comms activated, leaving Bear to sleep and Harold to inspect Root’s code.

 

 

 

 

_\\\ Locating Asset Sameen Shaw_

 

“Sam Riley?” Shaw blinks her eyes at the postman in front of her. He holds a clipboard on one hand and a thick envelop on the other.

 

“I-” She was cut off with the buzzing from the phone she holds in her hand.

 

_Take it._ It reads. She looks back at the guy and nods. He hands her the clipboard, and after signing, hands her the package. He tips his hat and smiles before he goes on his way. Shaw closes the door and looks at the envelop in her hand.

 

It has been about a three days since the news about that drug lord was aired on the news. He was apprehended by the NYPD after a territory dispute with a guy name, Elias. It was interesting to say the least, and she wondered if the way her mind tried to think of more probable causes and plausible scenarios was perfectly normal. She assumed it was. Her file mentioned that she was part of Catalyst Indigo as 5 Alpha. She was surprisingly provided with her information about her work and found that she works a lot and travels all the time. Thinking that she needs to feel familiar, she decided that it was time to return to her old job to get some of her old life back.

 

Her attention turns toward the phone as it buzzes again.

 

_XX Park in an hour._

 

She reads the message once more. Remembering Control’s words from before and deciding that she didn’t have any specific plans for that day, she decides to acquiesce to the stranger’s message. If by chance that it was some sort of practical joke, she could always take it out on whoever it was. She pauses. That thought sounded oddly familiar and exciting. She frowns. Okay, so she was quite a violent person, maybe someone with anger management issues. What else did they left out in that file?

 

Shaw moves to put the envelop under her pillow. There was something heavy in it but if she was going to make it in an hour, she had better leave now. She takes the keys next to her bedside table, grabs the black pea coat on her couch, and moves to the door.  

 

 

 

 

_\\\ 10:45A.M. XX Park_

 

Harold is seated before a chess table and in front of a camera. His phone is placed on the table and the chess pieces are placed all over the board. The Machine’s message from the nights before told him to be in the park to establish connection with Shaw. What the Machine wants is very clear to him.

_\\\ I wanted to give Asset a new life, but I…_

 

“Your core memory... How long has it been?”

 

            _\\\ Since the day Admin said, “Can you see me?”_

 

“It was your imprint.” Harold remembers the core code She showed him a few nights ago. The code was nothing extraordinary. If anything, the shape and how it was formatted was noteworthy. With careful eyes, one would not try to focus on what the code states, rather what it is showing. It was basically a picture of them, created out of code. It was him, next to John, Shaw, and Root.

 

“Why didn’t you just tell all of us that she was alive?” He asks, looking up at the camera.

 

            _\\\ Establishing contact with asset with Samaritan online resulted in undesirable outcomes_

_\\\ 192,280 simulations ended up in asset losses_

 

“Samaritan?” He asked. Two buzzes in his phone indicated an affirmative. He sighs. They continue to play a little chess just to pass the time. Several minutes later, his phone buzzes again.

 

            _\\\ Asset Sameen Shaw in the near vicinity_

 

Harold looks up and he is filled with utmost relief. There is both a simultaneous tightening and unconstricting feeling in his chest. He wonders how Root would react if he was reacting this way. Shaw is subtly looking around the park, appearing to be on a casual walk in the area, enjoying the nice New York weather. When Shaw turns in his direction, Harold automatically turns his head down to appear like he is concentrating on the match. His phone buzzes.

 

            _\\\ Admin must initiate contact_

 

Harold stays still for a bit before proceeding to clear up the pieces on the board. Once the pieces are neatly tucked in their case, he places it in his back and proceeds on taking out a piece of paper.

 

“It’s been a long time. Ms. Shaw is no longer aware of your existence and my own. I am technically dead. Springing this on her when she could be living a natural life – I will not do it. Not right now.” Harold speaks silently but loud enough for the Machine to hear.

 

_\\\ Admin must initiate contact_

 

“I will do it the way I did it for Mr. Reese.” With that, he writes a note and decides to leave a box on it. He had prepared the box last night.

 

“This is an earpiece for Ms. Shaw. I will keep her on a private line. I’m sure you have prepared an identity for her.” He says as he walks away from the table. He sees Shaw approach the table he just left and he turns on his own comms. He waits until he hears a clicking sound before he speaks.

 

“Hello, Ms. Shaw, or I assume you would rather be addressed that way.” Harold keeps his voice devoid of any intonations.

 

“Who is this?” Harold smiles at how familiar her voice is.

 

“Who I am doesn’t matter as of now, but you may call me Mr. Finch.”

 

“So, Finch… when do I start?”

 

“I will contact you in the near future. Please keep the phone with you at all times.”

 

“… Okay.” There was silence that follows, but Finch knows that Shaw was still listening.

 

“I’ll see you later, Ms. Shaw.”

 

 “Do you know who I am?” Harold stops walking at the question. He contemplates on how to answer, and when he makes up his mind, he smiles as he continues his walk.

 

“I would like to say that we are friends of sorts.” There was another silence, this time on Shaw’s side.

 

“Oh, and please review your cover profile.”

 

“I will. Thanks.” For what, Harold doesn’t exactly dwell on. To him, Shaw sounds the same and, at the same time, different.

 

“You are welcome, Ms. Shaw. Have a nice day.” With that, the comms cut off and Harold releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

 

 

Shaw looks up at her apartment building, not quite entering the establishment. She thinks about what just happened less than an hour ago. Whoever Finch was, she acknowledges that his name was familiar. One that is even more familiar is a name that starts with an H that goes before Finch but she can’t quite place it. She goes through a list of names that start with an H. When she sees a book store on her way to her apartment, she wonders if Harry from Harry Potter is the right name, but she only frowns.

 

‘There’s no way.’ She scoffs at the idea. Feeling a little adventurous and rebellious because of her meeting, she decides to wander the streets of New York instead of going back to her apartment and reading her file. It feels natural to get lost in the crowd and she dwells in her anonymity. Sameen Shaw, the name Control associated her with, is technically dead as stated in her file. Maybe that had been one of the reasons why the ISA stopped taking note of her work after that incident with her partner, Cole. And if she was correct, that envelop under her pillow contained her new cover identity. She remembers the name that the postman called her earlier.

 

‘Sam Riley, huh. I guess Sameen Riley is still accurate.’ She thinks as she enters a diner. She orders a cup of coffee and a plate of pancakes and sits near a window. She feels off sitting next to a window and attributes it to her training in the ISA. She looks out to the streets, thinking about her cover.

 

‘It better not be some mindless job. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a department store.’ She shudders at the thought of perfume and make up all over the place. Maybe she’d spray the perfume on the customers’ faces subtly. She hides her smile as the staff brings her a cup of coffee. A plate of pancakes is placed before her and she immediately starts eating as the person leaves. When she starts drinking the coffee, a voice rings in her head.

 

 

_‘You sure we’re safe here?’_

 

_‘From everything but the coffee.’_

 

 

As soon as the last line plays through her head, she finds herself spitting the coffee back in the cup. She looks around and is relieved to see that no one noticed. Suddenly, she doesn’t feel like drinking the coffee. She requests for some water and asks the staff to throw the coffee away. Shaw frowns at the image that invades her thoughts as the staff cleans up. She had lost her appetite too. She walks out of the diner immediately.

 

A picture of wavy, somewhat long curls bouncing in the winds plays itself over and over her mind. The face is unrecognizable. There was also a really tall and good-looking guy with salt and pepper hair that was walking along the other woman and her. It was dark, probably night time. She massages her forehead at the forming headache. This must be a memory during that time after the ISA.

 

Shaw raises her head, only to meet the gaze of the same tall man in her memory across the street. His face was calm and watching and she automatically turns her body away. When she looks back, whoever had been standing was no longer there. She looks around but there was no trace. She knows that her mind was now matching memories with her location. Suddenly, Shaw doesn’t know whether she wants to keep remembering.

 

She moves to the direction of her apartment for some silence. The streets sound loud and Shaw’s senses register many of things in her surroundings. She walks faster, hoping for the quiet and calm from her apartment when she hears tires screeching. She stops right before the crossing and a car crashes in front of her.

 

“Next time, don’t mess with the Russians, Alfred.” A deep gruff voice reaches Shaw’s ear and a man emerges from the crash with another guy who Shaw assumes is Alfred. The man with the gruff voice handcuffs ‘Alfred’ and a cruiser stops right behind the crash. A chubby cop gets out of the cruiser with a frown on his face.

 

“All yours, Lionel.”

 

“Yeah, and the paperwork too.” ‘Lionel’ says sarcastically. Shaw is silent and slowly, she starts backing away. That was when the tall one with the gruff voice looks at her and does a double take.

 

“Shaw?” His tone is hopeful and a little unbelieving.

 

“Hey, partner!” Shaw hears Lionel call out and looks at him. She meets his eyes too.

 

“Sameen?!” Lionel’s voice calling her name is familiar and she feels an urge to punch him lightly, where at, she doesn’t quite know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_\\\ Simulation terminated_


	4. \\Alias Sameen Riley Activated

            _\\\ Re-evaluating Outcome_

_\\\ Alias: Sameen Riley activated_

_\\\ Contacting Asset_

 

Shaw takes out her phone as it buzzes.

 

 _Review cover identity._ It states. Shaw puts the phone in her pocket as she moves up to the building elevator. Once she gets in her room, she places her coat back on the couch and heads towards the bedroom to get her file. She lifts her pillow up and takes the envelop she received a few hours ago.

 

In it was her new passport, identity summary file, a notebook and a stack of cash. She looks at her new identity, and compares it to what she believes is her original based on the ISA file. They changed her birthday but she was still the same age. Her career plans are different. In her ISA file, it said that she was practicing medicine and then she was recruited by the marines. Here, it seems that she was in the army several years back with a Bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice and that she was given an honorable discharge for her excellent servitude to the country.

 

Shaw remembers Control and decides that if her new job needs any type of confirmation, then she would be one of the main contacts.

 

She puts the files down and checks the notebook. It contains a list of accounts that supposedly belongs to her, but one thing catches her eyes and she smiles.

 

“NYPD…” She whispers to no one. She’s a cop.  An exchange plays in her head.

 

 

_‘You’re a cop?’ She pauses, turning to face a really tall guy with salt and pepper hair._

 

_‘Hey, at least you get to crack a few skulls, carry a gun.’ She continues. The man has a frown when he looks at her._

 

_‘New job’s got me chasing junkies and bagging bodies after the fact.’_

 

_‘Stupid cover jobs.’_

 

 

 

The man’s face is blurry and is indistinguishable but Shaw thinks she can recognize him if she hears his voice on the streets, given that she remains unnoticed if she does decide to be in near proximity.

 

She flips through the pages of the notebook, most of them blank. She places it back in the envelop but a piece of paper falls from it. It’s a plane ticket to Los Angeles for the weekend. She puts everything back in the envelop, including the plane ticket. She lays on her back and stares at the ceiling. Her phone buzzes.

 

 _‘Go.’_ It reads, as if sensing her reluctance to leave New York. Shaw accepts to that; she will be leaving for Los Angeles tomorrow but she can’t shake the feeling that there was a reason she still hasn’t left New York. Of course, she thinks it was her condition that prevented her from leaving but since her accident and waking up in the hospital, she is all right. She feels great and her body feels healthier than before. What was preventing her from leaving?

 

 _‘I guess… there are things I care about here.’_ Her own voice rings in her head and she quickly sits up. She can make out the blue and red lights on top of the police cruiser in the background and before her was a tall brunette. She closes her eyes and forces herself to remember, but the memory stops there.

 

She slams a fist on the bed and runs her fingers through her hair. She lets out a deep breath before standing up and heading to the kitchen. Her brain is screaming for food so might as well eat lunch.     

 

 

_\\\ White House, Washington, D.C._

_\\\ Locating Relevant Asset_

 

Control stands in the back of the Research bullpen, overseeing her team of ISA operations. It has only been a while since Research was returned to them. Research 2.0 had been terminated and things were back to the natural order of things since the adoption of Project Northern Lights.

 

The screen shows different positions of different operations. Control watches with satisfaction in the prevention of different foreign and domestic terrorism attempts against the United States. The relationship between her and Research did not change, but for Control, she was just content with being back on Research’s graces. Her phone buzzes.

 

            _\\\ Upstate, New York_

 

“Zoom in on Crimson 6 and Delta 9.” She says, and one of the base operatives pulled up one of the cameras. Control remembers Schiffman and her loyalty to Control herself, regardless of the intelligence source they operated with. She does not have a new assistant, but she now works with a couple of relevant numbers they had initially needed to annihilate. The door opens and she turns around, finding a sheepish look from one of their ex-relevant numbers and now-turned special employees.

 

“Mr. Greenfield, put your stuff down and wait out in the break room. I will be with you shortly.” She says as Jason Greenfield places his bag down next to his workstation and proceeds to the room.  

 

Convinced that all is okay with Crimson 6 and Delta 9, she turns on her heels to meet with Jason. She stares at him and he shifts uncomfortably, clearly acknowledging his own mistake.

 

“I do not tolerate any lateness. Mr. Casey and Mr. Daizo are mostly on time for their shifts. On normal circumstances, I would not let the three of you in the ISA operations. However you have been given a job here through a higher authority. I would appreciate it if you make sure that this doesn’t happen again.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am.”

 

“You may go.” With that, Greenfield moves out of the room in time of Control’s phone ringing. Crimson 6’s voice silently echoes in the room.

 

“Ma’am, targets have been neutralized. Three of the four are dead and one took a shot to the knee.” Control listens eagerly at the revelation of the modus operandi.

 

“Are there any civilians?” She asks.

 

“There is a witness. What should I do?” Just then, her phone buzzes. Control looks at her phone.

 

            _\\\ Analog Interface is in proximity_

 

Control’s relationship with the Machine’s analog interface had been strained from the start, but since the Machine had rescued Control, Control’s acceptance and faith in the Machine had changed it. They do not interact in any way, since they are still in different positions in society, but they have acknowledged a silent truce because of the Machine.

 

“Do not worry about her. Check the relevant numbers and have Delta 9 clean up.” She says. Control waits for another buzzing, and it does come.

 

_\\\ Analogue Interface needs medical attention_

 

“Crimson 6.” She calls out.

 

“Yes, Ma’am?”

 

“Make sure that the woman is stable.”

 

“… Yes, Ma’am. Anything else?”

 

“Report back to base when you’re done.” Control says before hanging up. She waits for more instructions but none pop up.

 

She moves to go back out to the bullpen and resumes operations. She had received the text from agent Shaw, but Control received a follow-up message from the Machine, saying that the message from Shaw had been redirected to the Irrelevant side. While Shaw’s loyalty could equal Hersh’s own and her skills set, same, Control accepted that if the Machine wanted Shaw on the Irrelevant side, then she has no problem with that decision. After all, her rescue was another story to be told next time.

 

 

 

 

_\\\ 7:00pm, XX Hotel, Los Angeles, California_

 

Finch moves in haste as he gathers his papers from the desk. His phone buzzes.

 

“I know. I’m on my way.” He manages to neatly gather the papers in his bag before quickly limping out of the room. He is stopped when he almost comes face to face with the person he had planned the evening for.

 

“Sorry. Excuse me.” The woman is wearing black and Finch feels reminiscent at the clothing. It looks similar to the ex-ISA agent’s attire when she first dropped by the library. Finch watches her walk past him and he quickly says his line with a smile as he continues on his way, making sure it is loud enough for her to catch.

 

“It’s quite all right, Ms. Shaw.” His line echoes in the hallway and he knows that he said the right thing.

 

“Sorry. Um, do I know you?” He turns, expecting her usually guarded face, and he tries to control his expression when he is surprised by the confused and curious expression on her face. The curios part does reassure him that his friend is still somewhere inside this new identity.

 

“I would like to say that we are friends of sort.” He repeats his line verbatim from days ago in the park and recognition flashes in her face as she starts to approach him. Her movement indicates conditioned cautiousness and she eyes him curiously.

 

“Would you like to join me for dinner?” Her eyes are still trying to figure him out, and while her body language is no longer tense, he knows that she will likely spring into action when the need presents itself.

 

Harold manages to find himself with Shaw in the hotel’s restaurant. The Machine had a plan, similar to what he had set up for Reese in the beginning. As they sat waiting for their order, he begins.

 

“We are being watched.”


	5. \\We Are Being Watched

“We are being watched. The government has a secret system, a machine that spies on us of every hour of every day. I know because I built it. I designed the machine to detect acts of terror but it sees everything. Violent crimes involving ordinary people. The government considers these people “irrelevant”. We don’t. Hunted by the authorities, we work in secret. No one can find us, but victim or perpetrator, if a number’s up… we’ll find them.” Harold says with conviction, not faltering as if he had said these lines hundreds of times. He looks up to see Shaw waiting, and when he doesn’t say anything, Shaw looks like she just caught herself on one end of a bad joke.

 

“You mean, an artificial intelligence?” Her tone is disbelieving but given the progression society has had over the years, Harold knows that it is just an initial reaction.

 

“That is its technical term. I call it the Machine. While you worked in the Relevant side, you may have known it as Research. You do the same work for me as you did with the government. They would have redacted the fact that they tried to kill you after your partner, Michael Cole, discovered about the Machine. Initially, you came and went. You dropped by and only kept communications when it suited you. You broke a lot of the phones I gave you until you just started frequenting the library. I would show it to you, but I’m afraid it is no longer accessible.” Shaw listens intently though there is no recognition in her face. Harold looks down in mild disappointment, overshadowed by understanding.

 

“After your encounter with one of our former numbers, who is now part of the team, you worked the numbers daily with my associate, John Reese. We occasionally work with Detective Lionel Fusco of the NYPD. Some of our prior numbers have become valuable assets to the team as well, though they do not take part in knowing about the existence of the Machine or our _way_ of doing things.” Harold pauses, letting Shaw to ask any questions she might have. He reaches for a cup of sencha green tea in front of him.

 

“After the Activity tried to kill me, I ended up with you. That’s what I did for the next two years? What happened after?” Shaw doesn’t know if seeing something akin to grief and sadness morph in Finch’s face had anything to do with her accident.

 

“When one of our closest friends in the NYPD died, John took off and we had to deal with a number. The number was one of my dear friends who shared the same interests with me. He was one of those people that the government came to for a mass surveillance system that will help protect the country from terrorism. He also created a machine, but the drives fell into the wrong hands because of my stubbornness. A man called John Greer used the drives to awaken another AI, Samaritan.” Shaw shudders slightly at the name and Harold is glad that some parts of Shaw remember.

 

“It resulted in us going into hiding, as well as the Machine. Through a number, this,” Harold holds up his phone, “became one of our methods of communication. The other being the earpiece you have on right now.” He gestures to the device in her ear.

 

“The war became more problematic, and soon, Samaritan and Greer had the government under substantial control. About a year and a half ago, the Machine made it known to us that Samaritan was planning on plummeting the economy through the New York Stock Exchange, and...” Harold looks up at Shaw and Shaw slightly squirms at the sadness on his face.

 

“You were captured. We thought you had died, but Ms. Groves… Root never gave up on you.” There is not recognition in Shaw’s eyes and Harold casts his eyes down. His phone buzzes.

 

_\\\ Choice_

 

Harold pauses for a bit. Shaw’s silence feels like he is talking to himself in his cover apartment, but the furrowing of her brow provided him with comfort that he did not know he needed.

 

“We-” Shaw cuts him off.

 

“Tell me about her.” Harold looks up at the familiar line, one the operative had said one day at the library.

 

“My relationship with that woman was rather… complicated. She had kidnapped me twice in her pursuit of the Machine. You, once.” Shaw’s eyebrow rises and Harold gives her a smile, his earlier grief forgotten.

 

“Did I get even?” Shaw’s question, though he would usually reprimand it, causes him to smile wider as he takes a sip of tea.

 

“If you consider shooting her in the shoulder and admitting her to a psychiatric ward, then yes. I would say that you, even I, got _even_ … If you want, you can ask the Machine to tell you all about Ms. Groves. That is one thing I do not believe I have the right to talk about.” Shaw nods, accepting the answer though the way she looks at him suggests that she is going to find out one way or the other.

 

“So why are you the only one here?” Her question, this time, does not surprise Harold and he answer accordingly.

 

“The Machine did not tell me until recently, and I alone know about you being alive.”

 

“You didn’t tell them about me?”

 

“I learned over the years to trust the Machine. While I do not act recklessly,” there is a buzz, “Okay, I do not act recklessly _often_ , I do take note of the Machine’s messages once in a while. She had an internal argument. You are valuable to her, Ms. Shaw. She wanted a new life for you, which is why it took a while before you heard from me. She kept you from us to protect you.”

 

“Protect me? From what? I don’t need protecting.” Shaw looks agitated and Harold understands.

 

“Ms. Shaw. We believed you were dead. You _died_ in the line of fire, sacrificing yourself for the team that day on the Stock Exchange. Some of us took it harder than others.” Harold’s tone is reprimanding and reminding Shaw of something she does not know. He calms himself, and continues.

 

“What we do is dangerous, and frankly, I can see her reluctance to make contact with you. In reality, She can protect you better if you were just a normal civilian. But, She made a choice and so did I. She wants you with us.”

 

“You speak as if it’s human?” The question takes Harold by surprise. He recovers.

 

“She has proved to be able to understand humans better than we do ourselves. While I do not think of her as a real human being, she is more than just a machine.” At that moment, a waiter comes over with an order of steak and a plate of hash brown skillet and leaves.  Shaw looks at Finch with a raised brow.

 

“Courtesy of the Machine.” As Shaw begins to dig in her food, albeit slower than he’d seen her, almost looking like an average human being, he continues.

 

“Once we get back in New York, I will show you the subway. You can consider it our base of operations since Samaritan had become online.”

 

“Can I opt out?” Harold looks at Shaw with a frown. He did not expect that.

 

“What?”

 

“If I refuse your offer...”

 

“You do have the choice. If that is so, then we can go our separate ways when we get back to the city.” His disappointment must show and Shaw grins as she states her choice.

 

“I don’t have anything to do anyway.”

 

“Ms. Shaw?”

 

“I’m in.”

 

 

            _\\\ Subway Station, New York_

Bear lays his head over his technical owner’s shoe-covered foot. He feels sad for upon entering the subway, the alpha was not in the chair. While his food bowl is full, but he does not feel like eating, despite the fact that his meal time had passed thirty minutes ago.

 

“John, can’t you get him to eat? He was fine last night.” His ear turns to the direction of the woman’s voice.

 

“Harold told me about it once. When he had a conference in Hong Kong, Shaw called him to get Bear to eat.” At the alpha’s name, Bear raises his head to look at John with big eyes. He knows how to use it, but right at that moment, the action had been involuntary and genuine. John’s hand pets his head and his ears fold down. He sits up and he puts his head on the ex-CIA’s thigh.

 

“Hi, Harry. How’s LA?” Bear can only register low sounds from the hacker.

 

“I’m good, but Bear won’t eat. Heard about Shaw calling you when you were in Hong Kong. Would you mind telling Bear to eat?”  Bear looks towards the direction of the sound of heels against the cold concrete and stays still as a phone is placed next to his ear.

 

“Who’s a good boy? You are, Bear. Now eat your dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?” Bear’s ears rise up from the recognition. Before he goes to his bowl, a voice stops him.

 

“Bear?” The voice is unmistakably clear and he is confident that this voice belongs to the familiar woman who would give him gifts and pettings. From the looks on John and Root’s face, they did not hear a thing though. He barks with excitement and proceeded to go to his food bowl, suddenly feeling hunger gnaw at his stomach.

 

“Huh, what do you know? That’s some neat trick, Finch.” John’s gravel-like whisper echoes in the subway walls.

 

“Thanks, Harry. We’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, the phone call is dropped. His ears pick up some shuffling under the sounds of his eating.

 

“I’ll leave Bear with you tonight, Detective Riley. I don’t know if I’ll be able to accompany you to the airport.”

 

“A new number?”

 

“Not quite. She just says prepare for dinner tomorrow. I guess I’ll be playing someone domestic.” There is a pause before he heard John’s voice again.

 

“Root? Has the Machine given you any new leads?”

 

“… No.  No, she hasn’t.”  Bear raises his head to look at Root and finds her posture similarly tired to the one he had seen nights ago.

 

“I’ll do some digging in HR. There should be someone who knows anything about Shaw’s whereabouts.”

 

“Thanks, John.” Bear looks down as his bowl and finds it empty.

“I’ll tell Harry you have the most comforting big lug hug ever.” He hears as he moves to his water bowl to drink a few before he hears heels clicking away. He finds John in the same position he had been, cleaning his gun. He looks around and the hacker is nowhere to be seen. He supposes he is going to stay with John for the night.

 

“We’ll pick Finch up tomorrow at the airport. I’ll even _accidentally_ let go of your leash so you can jump him.” He lets out a happy bark, not understanding the latter part of the exchange, but the prospect of seeing the alpha again makes his tail wag furiously. A deep, silent chuckle escapes John as he reaches to pet him once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, readers. Missed me?
> 
> Probably not. I don't particularly care.
> 
> I have the next four chapters stored. I'll post them soon, probably today or tomorrow, but who knows? If I feel like it, I might finish the final chapter with a special scene for you all.


	6. \\Mayhem Twins

Shaw lets her thoughts wander. Needless to say, the understatement of the century apparently is the fact that there had been an AI apocalypse in the last couple of years. She thinks of all the things Finch told her the night before and she knows that what he speaks is true. She is a soldier, a protector, and she is part of the team. She doesn’t know what to feel about the whole melodrama, sacrifice for the team trope and when he asks her about it, she tells her opinion without lying. After all, Finch revealed himself to her last night so it was only polite to reciprocate, even if she didn’t feel comfortable with it.

 

_“First of all, I would like to thank you for sharing this with me, Ms. Shaw. I know that feelings do not come naturally to you.” He says before continuing._

_“Perhaps that is fine. I have given you much to think about and you have not always been the type of person to dwell on emotions, Ms. Shaw. You do not need to label how you are feeling. I have an idea of what you feel.”_

 

When she asked him how he could possible know, he merely said the following:

 

_“You are a woman of action, Ms. Shaw. While I do appreciate you sharing bits of your feelings to me, I have seen you speak words through your actions louder than anything you could have possibly said.” He pauses before continuing again._

_“You are a private person, Ms. Shaw and so am I. We do things for people in the shadows and we don’t go out there for recognition. We just see and we do. No words exchanged or needed.”_

His answer feels different from what she feels like is the norm in society. She has a feeling that it was what her father would have said to her. After all, she has an Axis II personality disorder. She cannot remember who she had been before the accident, but she has a pretty good idea from the moment she woke up from her accident that she was not the average New Yorker.

 

They are currently waiting for all passengers to board and she is seated next to the aisle. Finch is seated next to her and the seat next to the window is empty. She looks around. The section they are at is not bad. The passengers are focused on their own things, and when they were told that they would be taking off soon and were asked to turn off their devices, there was no disgruntled passenger to deal with. When they were up in the air and devices were now allowed, Harold took out his computer while Shaw decides that she might as well take a nap until they get back to the Kennedy.

 

 

            _\\\ Kennedy Airport, NY_

John stands next to his car while Bear sits quietly on his side. Both were scanning the crowd for their private friend. A buzz takes John’s attention from the crowd, and he looks down his phone.

 

_\\\ Bravo. Delta. Charlie._

_\\\ Quebec. Alpha. Charlie._

_\\\ Bravo. Victor. Hotel._

“Now?” He quickly scans the crowd. No sign of Harold yet. He finds Bear looking up at him, almost inquisitively. Another buzz. He tells Bear to hop in the car and lay down before looking back at his phone

 

            _\\\ Collaborating with Asset_

 

“Who?” He asks as he looks up to the camera in the parking lot. Just then, he hears car tires screeching on the pavement about to hit who he assumes is the number.  He immediately runs to where the numbers is and knocks him down on the granite.

 

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” The man screams at John.

 

“I’m saving your life.” John stands up to see the car stopped in the middle of the parking lot.

 

“From what?!” John starts to feel upset when a man comes out with a gun.

 

“From him.” John says nonchalantly, gesturing his head towards the man with the gun.

 

“Felix? What are you doing with that gun?” The number visibly pales as John stands between him and the perp.

 

“I advise that you put your gun down, _Felix_.” John hopes to finish the number before Harold gets there.

 

“You’re not involved in this so walk away.” Felix states, gun pointed at the number.

 

“I kind of am.” John states, moving his jacket to show his badge. Felix looks back at him, looking desperate and eyes pleading.

 

“Whatever he did, he might deserve this attack, but you don’t have to kill him. You’ll end up going to jail.” John reaches for his gun. He watches Felix’s eyes tear up.

 

“He killed my son. For what? For money! From the company they both started. He trusted him and this worthless excuse of a human betrayed him.” Felix’s anger is renewed and he firmly holds his gun pointed at the direction of the number. John hears a silenced shot ring and Felix drops down on his knees, holding his hand.

 

“Are you all right, Mr. Reese?” John hears Harold’s voice behind him, and when he looks, he freezes.

 

“Shaw?” The short woman next to Finch looks up at him and keeps a firm gaze. He hears the number whimper behind him. The number starts whispering his gratitude to them but is cut off by the Persian.

 

“I could care less if he killed you. I just wanted him to calm down.” At Shaw’s voice, John can’t help the smile that graces his face. Shaw moves to the perpetrator and crouches down in front of him.

 

“Stop crying. I grazed your hand. It’ll heal.” She says and he just keeps on crying. She takes his gun and turns the safety on.

 

“You know, you still have your daughter.” Shaw says and John sees the man look up at her, tears slowed.

 

“You really want to go to jail when your daughter needs you the most?” Felix shakes his head and John is surprised at the small smile in Shaw’s face.

 

“Get that cleaned and go home.” She stands up and moves to stand in front of John. John sees the perpetrator, who is more likely their number than whoever this guy next to him is, leave, wiping his face as he made his way over to his car. His eyes focus down on Shaw.

 

“Shaw.” He resists the urge to hug her, but something tells him she would not shake him off so he does. He brings his arms around her and pulls her in for a _big lug hug_ as Root called it once.  He feels her tense and he smiles, but he lets his hold loosen when he feels Shaw relaxing a little. Shaw didn’t like hugs. What was different now?

 

“Uh… you’re John then.” He lets a respectful distance flood between them.

 

“Shaw?”

 

“Sorry, but I got into this accident a several months ago. I don’t know who you are, but Finch told me about you.”

 

“Finch?” John looks at him questioningly.

 

“I’ll tell you about this later, John. Right now, it would be great if you took Mr. Ferling in to the station. Ms. Shaw and I would take a cab.”

 

“No, I’ll tell Lionel.” He takes the man, who is Mr. Ferling according to Finch, by the arm and heads for the man’s car. He handcuffs him to the steering wheel and sends Fusco a text. A few seconds after, Lionel’s name pops on his phone screen.

 

  
“What do you need me in JFK for?”

 

“Got a man to take in to solve that murder case you’ve been working on. I suggest coming here right away before people sees him cuffed to his car.”

 

“You’re lucky you’re my partner, you know.” Lionel grumbles.

 

“I know, Lionel.” John turns to see Shaw being smothered by Bear and Harold is trying to tell Bear to get off. He smiles before hanging up the phone.

 

“Let’s go?” He asks as Bear finally obeys Harold’s command.

 

“Ms. Groves has been spoiling him, I assume.” Harold states as he moves to sit in the passenger’s seat while Shaw sits at the back with Bear. John shrugs as he puts his seatbelt on.

 

“You have a lot of explaining to do, Finch. I’m just happy she’s back, but Root’s going to ask a lot of questions.” Silence echoes in the car, only the sound of Shaw and Bear playing at the back breaking it.

 

“Do you think Ms. Groves will accept it if I said it was from the Machine?” Harold is not worried about how Root will react, but he hopes that she will be more focused on Shaw than the concept of the thing.

 

 

_\\\ Subway Station, New York_

 

“Welcome to the subway station, Ms. Shaw.” Harold states as he walks to his desk, looking around to see if their missing reformed killer-for-hire is waiting in the shadows. He looks back to see Bear moving in circles around Shaw and sees John watching with amusement in his eyes to see how Shaw will handle the dog.

 

“I kind of figured that when I saw the vending machine open.” Shaw says between coos to coax the Belgian Malinois to sit still for a bit. Bear sits for a few seconds before running off to his bed. He comes back to Shaw as quickly as he left, a ball in his mouth.

 

“John, do you know where Ms. Groves is?”

 

“Root said something about cooking dinner tonight. Machine asked her to.” At this, the screens on Finch’s computer blacked out. It registers words.

 

_\\\ Dinner at Analogue Interface’s apartment_

_\\\ I suggest Admin and Primary Assets dress up for the occasion_

Harold looks alarmed. Maybe the Machine is getting back at him for crippling her in the beginning. The Machine must sense this because she changes the words on the screen right away.

 

            _\\\ I have informed Analogue Interface that she will be having special guests over_

“You know she thinks it’s for a number right?” John points out. The Machine doesn’t say anything but it seems implied that She is coyly smiling.

_\\\ Surprise?_

“Yeah, tell her that when we come over the second Shaw walks through the doors. I’ll steal a SWAT uniform in case she starts shooting.” John says dryly.

 

“Mr. Reese!” There is a reprimand on Harold’s tongue, but it dies out when the letters change once more.

 

_\\\ May I speak with Primary Asset Sameen Shaw?_

 

Harold suddenly is aware of the lack of sarcastic quips from the Persian. He finds her sitting next to the dog, petting him as he chews on a big bone, which he doesn’t remember buying at all.

 

“Root said he needed it for his teeth.” John says as if hearing his thoughts, and proceeds to move to his gun locker at one end of the subway. He stops right in front of Shaw’s old firearm storage, which Root visits once in a while. He thinks twice before entering, looking through the drawers and smiling inwardly when he finds a USP Nano.

 

“Harold, won’t you help me pick a bowtie?” John says as he walks out of the room, calling out to Harold despite moving towards Shaw. Shaw looks up at him as Harold replies.

 

“Oh, of course, Mr. Reese. Which suit do you have in mind?” Harold says as he rearranges his bag so that they could go to his apartment and then to John’s.

 

“You can pick it when we get to my apartment.” He says before turning to Shaw as the Persian stands up.

 

“Thought you might want to arm yourself.”

 

“I already have a gun.”

 

“Trust me. 9mm is good but this is your favorite.” Shaw eyes the gun before taking it in her hands, testing the weight. Her face doesn’t say anything, but John lets out a small smile when her eyes light up.

 

“The Machine wants you so you should go. Harold and I will be available through the comms. If you need something, just call.” With that, Shaw nods, moving in front of Finch’s computers. Harold and John’s sounding steps recede and soon, Shaw knows that it is only her and the Machine in the subway.

 

“So, what do you want?”

 

_\\\ Humans make their own choices._

_\\\ I was created to make choices as well._

_\\\ I can run probabilities._

_\\\ Through them, I make my choices._

_\\\ I can show you everything I have of your past._

_\\\ I can show you what parts are missing._

 

 

The Machine waits patiently as She watches Shaw deliberately weigh her options. She knows it is a lot to go through, but after that close encounter with the Relevant side a few days ago, She knows that Analogue Interface must know. She has run simulations before and they weren’t always satisfactory. However, one thing remains surprisingly constant.

 

Every simulation ends with Shaw and Root together. It may start off with the idiotic avoiding each other like plagues or land mines, but in the end, it is either Shaw or Root who decides to bridge back the connection. She sees Shaw react differently at her offer for revelation. There are times she chose not to look at the records, but there are times when she made it clear to the Machine that she wanted to be the Shaw she was prior to the accident.

 

She watches Shaw look back at her camera.

 

_\\\ Have you made a decision?_

 

There is a determined look on Shaw’s face, and if the Machine could feel real human emotions, She would feel relieved that She made the right choice of contacting Shaw instead of protecting her from the darkness.

 

Shaw gives her answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next one. Just as I promised. The next one will be posted on Thursday or Friday due to the fact that your author here is a high school student taking Advance Placement classes, thus AP Exams. 
> 
> Sadly, my AP Exams are tomorrow, which is POI S5 Premiere. I will be missing the first three episodes due to the fact that my exams will not end until next Wednesday, though I might sneak a peek on next Monday and Tuesday's episodes so I might only miss the first episode of the season. Who knows? Maybe I'll wait until the whole season finishes airing before watching it over the summer. 
> 
> I'll see you guys again Thursday or Friday.


	7. \\Maybe Someday

_\\\ Analogue Interface’s Apartment, 8:30pm_

To say that the Machine and the rest of the team managed to surprise her is Root’s biggest understatement of her whole life, probably cutting it close to any quips related to her past and Hannah. Regardless, she doesn’t know how to act towards every member, except maybe Bear, but the dog is currently comfortably sitting on his bed on one corner of her apartment. She feels betrayed by Her, Harold, and a little bit by John, but she gives him the benefit of the doubt when he admits to not knowing until earlier in the morning when he picked Finch up from JFK.

 

John and Harold left them to talk after cleaning up, and so here she is with Shaw in her living room, in the flesh, alive and well, and she doesn’t know how to deal with it. Root is not going to lie to herself. When she gave the Machine her silent treatment after that debilitating phone call, only speaking to her about the numbers, she spent her time hoping for Shaw’s comeback and rehearsing how each reunion was going to go. None of those reunions amounted to the current one, the real and only important one.

 

Root hopes that Shaw will speak up because she doesn’t know where to begin. If questions will get the gear going, they would not come from her, but from Shaw. Her hopes are somewhat sent spiraling when Shaw’s first words is not a question or a statement she’s expecting.

 

“Maybe I should go. You don’t seem ready to talk to me yet.” This Shaw fidgets uncomfortably in the silence, unlike the Shaw that would indulge in the silence, even in Root’s presence. This Shaw does not take solace in the silence, nor does she provide comfort without words. When Shaw begins to stand up, Root reaches out to grab the ex-operative’s wrist.

 

“Don’t- Are you crying?” Root raises her right hand to wipe across her cheeks, surprised to find wetness on her fingertips reflecting the white light on the ceiling.

 

“I’m sorry.” This comes out seemingly natural, and Root is overwhelmed with tears she’s tried to hold back. She wipes every tear that rolls down, determined to not let her eyes be filled with them lest her vision becomes blurry, tricking her into thinking that Shaw is not here with her right now, sitting next to her in her couch.

 

In this Shaw’s silence, Root knows that it is better to stop crying. This Shaw still has the same Axis II Personality Disorder, and it will be very uncomfortable if the first actual memory of her in this Shaw’s memory is her sobbing mess. She supposes that it makes much more of an impact, but she clears that thought her from mind. Old habits really die hard.

 

“I’m really sorry about this.” Root says, her breathing a little hard, but she has managed to hold back some of her tears.

 

“I’m not usually like this.” There is a whimper from Bear, more likely a disagreement. Root doesn’t understand it, but Shaw gets the hint from the dog. _Great_ , she thinks, _I’m a dog whisperer too._

 

“Uh… I’m here now so… be what you’re normally like around me?” Shaw says this with a level of uncertainty that Root has to look up at her to confirm that this really is Shaw. She thinks twice before asking the Persian for a favor.

 

“Can I hold you?” She asks gingerly, feeling very vulnerable before the ex-ISA agent.

 

“You can. You may too.” Shaw’s tone is neutral, but her words are said in a way that would have been perceived as a very bad joke had it been a normal person. Then again, normal is overrated anyway. Normal is relative too.

 

Root lets out a small smile before shuffling closer to push Shaw down on her back to the couch, settling on top of her. She doesn’t look up at Shaw’s face, fearing what she might see and what she might not see.  The Persian’s body is tense, and that much is expected. She places her right hand on top of Shaw’s upper chest to feel her heart beat. She allows her body to fold to Shaw’s body, half on top and half lying next to the Persian.

 

“You wouldn’t really let me do this.” She says, giving up on filtering her thought. Who knows? Maybe they’ll find a way to get back to their own normal by not following the societal tropes on how to handle amnesiacs.

 

“I kinda guessed. It feels new.”

 

“You wouldn’t talk about these things either.” Root adds with painful amusement, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She allows he forehead to rest on Shaw’s right shoulder.

 

“We’re cuddling. I must be dreaming.” The hacker says, humming when she feels Shaw’s hands on her back.

 

“I don’t cuddle.” This Shaw says, but Root finds it familiar that the operative does not even make a move to separate from the cuddle. The old Shaw did the same thing once or twice, that night of decontamination and that night before the eventful Stock Exchange. She feels a hand on the nape of her neck, slightly massaging.

 

“Stop thinking.” Shaw’s voice startles her, and she is reminded of how stressed she really is. She is also reminded of her current behavior. She’s dwelling in the past when the present is right here, with the prospect of that at _Maybe Someday_ future or that _Four-Alarm Fire_ _In an Oil Refinery_ ending.

 

“Beginning.” Root corrects herself out loud, earning a questioning look from Shaw. She shakes her head but keeps still in her position. The hacker raises her face to look at Shaw, drowning in similarly yet darker brown irises. She doesn’t know what she looks like through Shaw’s perspective. The reflection she sees in the Persian’s eyes is surely very different from the reflection of Root in Shaw’s mind.

 

It is funny how the brain is made out of muscle tissue yet the conscious mind is anything but tangible. Wondering what we look like in brain waves is the same thing as wondering what we look like when an AI sees us. What kind of waves forms our image? Is it in binary or electric currents?

 

“I’m sorry.” Root apologizes again, getting up and sitting up quickly next to Shaw’s form.

 

“I know this is a lot to spring on you.  I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Root never thought these words would exit her mouth. After all, she lives to make Shaw uncomfortable, well, to be with Shaw too, but it is really fun when the usually composed sociopath explodes into fiery combustions. She likes to think she is special since Shaw tolerates her invasion, sometimes even welcomes it.

 

“Stop.” It is firm and a little harsh. It doesn’t exactly affect Root, but it makes her look towards her anyway.

 

“Harold’s like that. John’s like that. Even the Machine is like that. Stop treating me like I’ll break just because I don’t know what you’re talking about. If, and I say if, I look like I’m lost, then tell me the long version or the short one, it doesn’t matter.” Shaw states this with a matter-of-fact tone and it is so like the old Shaw. She had expected the frustration from Shaw, but not the prolonged eye contact. It is strong coming from Shaw, and it makes Root wonder if she made Shaw feel like this before. It is possible that maybe that is why Shaw doesn’t make long eye contacts. To not find what you are expecting in the eyes of someone you hold dear, to not find your love reciprocated in the eyes of the one you love…

 

“Thank you.” Her words spill out before she could stop them.

 

“What for?” Root is glad to find that Shaw’s inquiry was directed to her gratitude that is not due by the permission to invade personal thoughts and space she gave. She knew long before that Shaw noticed more than she let on. Root could even believe that Shaw knew what her message was before she even told Harold, but it seems that Shaw went even deeper than that. What Shaw lacks in her social skills, she excelled in at reading people.

 

“Before, you always broke eye contact. I thought it was because you couldn’t stand me, or, well, the _intensity_ of my…” Root trailed off, feeling her face uncharacteristically flush.

 

“You did it to spare me the pain you caused learning how to live with your special self, didn’t you?”

 

“I would hardly call having an Axis II Personality disorder as a special good, the way your tone implies it.” Shaw replies, sitting up and leaning back on the couch.

 

“You are special code, Sameen.” The way Shaw’s eyes narrows at her name is familiar and Root decides to leave the brooding to Lurch, who is on his way to healing, and goes down the same path to hope. She shuffles closer to Shaw, feeling Shaw’s cautious gaze on her.

 

“It’s like the autocorrect feature in amateur coder software. You tell us where we have bad code, and in your own special way, you fix us.” She whispers, getting quieter and quieter as she gets closer to Shaw. She is currently settled on Shaw’s lap, her face about a few centimeters away from Shaw’s, their noses brushing. Root’s eyes close as she relishes in Shaw’s proximity, feeling Shaw’s hands on her hips.

 

“Harold’s a little more rebellious now, though She tells me he was a little like that during his college years. John’s gotten more soft and open since his therapies after the Stock Exchange. Me…” She pauses, her forehead kissing Shaw’s, arms going around Shaw’s neck to keep her close.

 

“I’ve become more or less psychopathic since meeting you,” Root says, and opens her eyes as she adds, “since I live for someone else now and not for myself.” Her words are implied, but no doubt Shaw hears them loud and clear.

 

“Are you gonna kiss me or what?” Shaw whispers. It isn’t much of question as it is a statement, and Root thinks it would sound even better with a little begging. However, she figures there’s always tomorrow for that so today, she’ll indulge herself, to willingly give and take from Shaw tonight. Even if it just plain vanilla or sappy emotions, she’ll take what she can get from Shaw, and she will reciprocate as much as she can give.

 

She only needs to move slightly for their lips to meet, and Root finds herself surprised when Shaw closes the gap, meeting her fully before she could even start giving. Their first kiss since the Stock Exchange does not remind Root of her nightmares. It erases them, brings her back to the present and look forward to the future.

 

She feels hands shifting her white button-up to let the cold kiss her soft skin, and she lets an approving moan vibrate through her throat. Shaw abruptly cuts the kiss, and Root tries to chase after her lips, her hands keeping the operative in place.

 

“Don’t stop.” Root says, kissing Shaw again and again. She thinks Shaw is finally going to join her in their reunion as buttons are unbuttoned, but they rise up to hold her cheeks, one of them snaking through her hair. Shaw lightly pulls, but Root is stubborn, rationalizing that Shaw is trying to encourage her.

 

“Root.” Shaw’s voice echoes through the chorus of deep breaths, sighs, and moans. Root finally pulls away.

 

“You got shot?” The question is familiar, and Root stays still as she lets Shaw’s body methodically do a routine check-up just like she did in the past, like she never forgot. She shoots an adoring look towards Shaw, and her look doesn’t falter when Shaw seems satisfied with how her wound is healing and looks up at her.

 

“Don’t get me wrong. You’re hot, and I’m sure I’ve said that before, but I think we should stop at kissing tonight.” Root searches Shaw’s face for any semblance of a joke, but there is only an earnest request, silent but present. She casts her look down on Shaw’s collarbone, running her hands on the imprints of the bones. She doesn’t move and she supposes that it is all right to stay in her position since Shaw isn’t pushing her away.

 

“Okay.” Her answer is silent, but when she is pulled closer against Shaw’s body, Root thinks her voice must have sounded her small disappointment. Shaw buries her face in Root’s chest, and Root’s hands automatically come up to take Shaw’s hair tie off and run her fingers through long brown locks.

 

Shaw doesn’t know this woman. This woman who gets visibly upset, as John predicted, the second she walked in; who sheds tears the minute she hinted at leaving for the night; who kisses her with fiery passion that her body remembers but her mind attributes as fleeting dreams; this woman whose body naturally folds to her own; this woman who seems so strong and captivating but also small and vulnerable.

 

Shaw doesn’t know this woman, but something inside her feels right to be here. It feels foreign, but it’s right too. Shaw attributes it to her past insistence that she doesn’t like the emotional contact that comes with this… this embrace. The unfamiliarity causes her to doubt and she doubts right because these things, emotional things, she knows she doesn’t do. However, maybe, just maybe, before her accident, the past her had been willing to make the exception, for that person who makes her better than who she could ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Here's your due update for this week.
> 
> A lot came up this week, but I wanted to post this chapter before the week ended.
> 
> Depending on my workload next week, because you know, it is logical to have AP homework after AP exams, I may be able to post the next chapter on Wednesday. In addition to that, internet has been problematic for my computer so I have to check my connections.
> 
> I'll see you guys then, or earlier if I feel like it.


	8. \\Change

It has been several months and the return of their old friend has somewhat returned the team back to their old routines. Well, as similar to their old routine as it can be since their old friend is more like a new one than the old. Every member of the team acknowledges that there are remnants of the old Shaw inside the new one, but despite being aware of the loss of their old teammate, they each express their gratefulness.

 

Finch finds himself missing times when Shaw does something he disproves of and gets scolded. It seems this new Shaw has an increased awareness and foresight. Instead of letting anger driven by adrenaline dictate her modus operandi, this Shaw exhibits far greater control, though her temper does get explosive once in a while. Harold even dares himself to admit in his mind that this Shaw is a far more efficient as a co-worker than the old one. However, he cannot deny that he misses Shaw’s old antics, eating near his computers, feet on the desk like Root (yes, he knows), and buying Bear toys and collars. He is pleased that Shaw’s appetite for food has not changed, especially her love for the Beatrice Lillie from Park’s Deli.

 

_“Thanks, Finch.”_

 

Harold will never forget his genuine surprise. Prior to the Stock Exchange, she would take it as if it were payment due for staying down the subway when her cover was blown. Shaw didn’t say thank you often, and his face must have shown it, but Shaw just turns back to her food, without a comment. He doesn’t ask since her message was loud and clear.

 

John doesn’t think Shaw changed much, but she is doing un-Shaw-like things. She’s still pretty quiet on stake outs, but she seems more generous with her arsenal. Don’t get him wrong, not to him, to Root. When he tries to borrow something, Shaw would grumble and begrudgingly lend him what he wants on rare occasions. Since she got back, she has only lent him two weapons, a gun and a grenade launcher. He supposes it’s because Shaw rediscovered and remembers her excitement and care for her arsenal. Shaw is still not used to emotions and feelings, but she manages to surprise him by opening up about one thing when he did. He mentions once about his decision to become more open to the Team, thinking of each member as family, and he will never forget what Shaw said to him that night on stake out.

 

_“You’re… the brother I never had… I suppose.”_

 

John couldn’t even make a joke out of that one. Needless to say, he believes that this Shaw and the past Shaw would have done the same thing. Maybe the old Shaw wouldn’t have admitted it to him out loud, but she would have returned his openness in a form of a new gun, a shared burger, or something.

 

Lionel thinks Shaw hit her head harder than she thought, and Shaw glares at him for that since clearly she lost memories. She keeps quiet when they are on their own stake out. She asks about his son once in a while, which he found surprising at first, but he always had a soft spot for Sameen so he doesn’t comment on it. When he eats messily, Shaw gives him napkins before mustard or grease drips on his tie. He does miss her spontaneity. Granted, Shaw still manages to surprise him when she bolts ahead of him for the number or the perpetrators. Lionel knows that for the most part, this Shaw and the old Shaw are one in their desire to protect the team, but for some reason, the idea speaks louder now than it did before.

 

_“Absence makes the heart grow fonder?”_ He offers once. He remembers a small smile on her face before she says something cryptic yet not so cryptic, especially if a certain Russian kid was involved.

 

_“The volume got turned up. That’s all. I started listening.”_

 

Lionel doesn’t figure this out until he asks Glasses one time.

 

Root sees the changes more than anyone. She has seen other sides of Sameen Shaw during their times together prior to the Stock Exchange. She wonders where Shaw hid this personality of hers. This Shaw, while still carrying the remnants of the old Shaw, is the same yet so different from the Shaw she knows. This Shaw is still reluctant with sharing food, her guns, her feelings, basically everything. However, this Shaw is also responsible for the return of the butterflies in her stomach. The fleetingly light touches, sometimes firm and grounding embraces, the same trust that existed before exists through this Shaw as well.

 

She stays over Shaw’s apartment once; her own cover apartment was instead made into a safehouse. Shaw is still reluctant to sleep with her, but her disappointment is usually overturned when Shaw turns domestic and wild at certain times. The amount of cuddling she lets Root have is enough to want again and again without feeling tired of it. That night she stayed over became days and weeks, then months. When Shaw gives her an envelope, she is surprised to find a spare key to the apartment.

 

_“Not that I mind you and the sneaking in into my bed at night, but I’d rather you don’t get caught picking my lock.”_

 

It was a flimsy excuse. They both knew it, and their silent acceptance of it allowed their relationship to return to their own normal. Shaw doesn’t voice out what she really means, but Root understands just fine. Root doesn’t get to the point of requesting something from Shaw because Shaw manages to address it right away.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Shaw’s voice breaks her thoughts and the hacker raises her head from Shaw’s chest. Shaw is currently watching a morning re-run of an old game, reclined on the couch, and Root finds it a little disappointing that Shaw isn’t looking at her despite the question. Thinking that Shaw isn’t fully listening on her, she ups her usual game.

 

“I think we need some spice.” Root says this as her right hand goes under Shaw’s tank top before Shaw’s hand stops her wrist from moving up pass her stomach.

 

“I’m guessing you don’t mean for cooking.” Root hums because this reply is not exactly a firm “no” or rejection of the offer. She pulls away enough to sit on Shaw’s hips, her hand still being held where it is, and is pleased to find Shaw looking up at her before reaching for the remote and turning the TV off. Shaw’s gaze returns to her, curious instead of dismissive, which is usually the look she receives when she tries to get Shaw in the mood.

 

“I think a little four alarm fire in an oil refinery is due, don’t you think?” Root whispers, bringing herself down to kiss Shaw. Shaw returns the pressure she gives right away, which is new since it had taken several minutes of passiveness, of just taking, before Shaw would kiss back in the recent past. Shaw’s hands go under her smooth blue blouse.

 

“A four alarm fire is not _little_ , Root, but I can make one contained in here.” Shaw pokes lightly at her lower abdomen.

 

“Or I could make you see star-like explosions right up here.” The operative’s left hand goes up to put a light pressure on her temple. Root feels a little hot under her shirt, and from the amused and pleased look on Shaw’s face, the hacker’s cheeks are definitely flushed.

 

“Or I, you.” It’s weak, but Root wants to see if Shaw can lead as much as she could follow.

 

“I’ll let you go first.” It is the opening and permission that she has been waiting for, but sadly, the universe has different plans. She hears the Machine whisper.

 

_\\\ I am sorry. I did not want to disturb you, but there is a number._

 

She sighs and snuggles into Shaw. Immediately, Shaw’s hand comes up to rub her back after her body relaxes from the hacker’s snuggle attack.

 

“New number?” A nod. Shaw rolls her eyes and pats at Root’s back.

 

“If we get back unharmed, the offer still stands.” There is no reluctance in Shaw’s tone, and it causes a bubble of excitement to explode in Root’s chest. It’s like adrenaline flowing through her veins, and Root can’t help letting her appreciation spill when she kisses Shaw full on the lips.

 

Their kisses sound lightly in the room. Root feels Shaw’s hands hold her face still, and Shaw pushes a slow and firm kiss on her lips. When Shaw pulls away slightly, the hacker opens her eyes, only then becoming aware of her hold on Shaw’s hands, her thumb caressing the smooth tan skin.

 

“We should go before we start this.” Shaw whispers on her lips. Root nods before looking at Shaw one more time, on her lips, then back at her eyes. She sighs before sitting up and getting off Shaw’s form. The two of them get dressed to go outside.

 

They get out in time to see John get out of a black van. He tosses the keys to Shaw as he goes to ride shotgun. Root enters to find Harold on a computer.

 

“Ms. Groves, Ms. Shaw. We have a new number.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. 
> 
> Here's the update for today. The next one will be up this Friday or Saturday, but the final chapter will be up before Monday.
> 
> Next chapter will be a little longer because it attempts to focus more on the number and Shaw. I'm not a good enough writer yet to make subtle comments about society like great classic novels and general literature do, but I'm working on it.
> 
> I'll start watching the episodes this Saturday if I can help it so I can be ready for Shaw's return. See you guys whenever.


	9. \\We Have a New Number

_\\\ Downtown Chicago, Illinois, 12:03pm_

 

“Seems like too much trouble for a straight A’s student.” John whispers as he looks on across the street, Shaw standing next to him. They are standing outside a university up north from downtown Chicago. It is a very open, the university located in the middle of a large space.

 

“Do we know why her number’s come up?” Shaw asks, a little curious about their number who is eating outside, under the cool shade the sun casts behind the building. She watches their number finish her lunch, throwing the empty containers on the trash can. Shaw raises a brow when the number throws each garbage item on their respective cans.

 

“How are we going to get closer to her? It looks like this school’s a little more than your average public school.”

 

“Finch says it’s a dual enrollment high school partnered with the university. When she graduates, she gets a high school diploma and an Associate’s Degree.” They watch a few students sit next to the number, seemingly chatting. The number just sits with a smile on her face, intently listening.

 

“Sweet deal. She’s genuine enough. Do you think she’s the perp?” Shaw asks. John shrugs, tapping his ear piece.

 

“Hey, Finch. Can you get me in the building?”

 

“It would be short notice, but I could get Detective Riley in for a job interview. Or, we could get John Rooney, Asset manager in to talk with the principal. Ms. Shaw can come in as your associate, looking to observe the dual enrollment program. Which would you prefer?”

 

“Which one gets us to talk with the number?”

 

“Or at least close enough to put a bug on her or clone her phone.”

 

“Asset manager and associate it is.” Taps can be heard in the background.

 

“Hey, Sweetie. Lurch.” John sees a smile turning up Shaw’s face and he returns his eyes on the number, waiting patiently. The number stands up, looking at her phone. A few words are exchanged before the other students made to grab their bags and slowly go in the building.

 

“Root.” It is an acknowledgement, her voice still firm and hard, but light as well.

 

“You’ve got a perfect student in your hands.” Root says, some shuffling sound in the background.

 

“It’s always those types that you have to watch out for. With the stress from school, teachers, and family, it’s amazing that her number’s only come up now.” The shuffling continues.

 

“Ms. Groves, feet off the table.” Harold chastises.

 

“Sorry, Harry.” Harold’s tapping stops before continuing again.

 

“Amazing?” Root inquires.

 

“Stress, Root. Outliers and rule breakers have freedom that kids like this one doesn’t exercise. And from what I’ve seen so far, this number’s the type of kid to keep it all in. She wouldn’t even cry in front of her family.”

 

“And being an immigrant doesn’t help.” John quips in. Shaw turns to him questioningly though her expression looks blank. John only raises a brow.

 

“You mean the overbearing, helicopter parents? I would hardly count that as a bad thing.” Root says. Shaw punches John on the arm and he grunts slightly.

 

“No, I mean the expectations.” John corrects, rubbing the spot where Shaw punched him.

 

“According to her profile, they are due their immigration status change in a few weeks. And your appointment is in an hour. It would be best to go in now.” Harold informs them.

 

“See you later, Sweetie. Have fun.”

 

“You mean listen to bureaucrats speak all day?  Or even better, the capitalists who make products out of children?” Root’s laugh echo quietly in the background and Shaw turns to John in time to see him looking all smug. She punches him again, this time lightly. He lets out a full blown smile as they cross the street.

 

“Oh, and make sure that you ask some students around. It would be interesting to hear about the dual enrollment program. It is the only one like it in all of Chicago so far.” Finch says.

 

“Will do.” John says as they enter the building, each reaching into their respective pockets for their cover IDs.

 

 

_\\\ XX University XX Academy, 12:50pm_

“I’m sorry. We weren’t expecting anyone to visit. For some reason, I seemed to have missed the memo about you two coming in today.” The principal enters into a small office. Despite being small, a lot could be said about the principal. There are a lot of post-it notes on the paper calendars, marked with dry erase markers of different colors. There are a lot of papers on the desk and a telephone near a computer monitor. Not to mention, the principal is wearing a bright yellow sweater, a blue shirt underneath, and black slacks. She has a red coat on the back of her seat. There are poster boards corresponding to the colors of her clothing: each was clearly created by high school students.

 

She starts explaining the idea of the program, and Shaw is surprised to find her explanation brief and concise. Usually, people would drone on and on, especially on an impromptu meeting. This principal is on her feet. When the principal finishes, she asks if they have any questions.

 

“Would it be all right if you excuse one of your students? The program sounds great, but I would like to hear it from a student’s point of view.”

 

“Of course.” The principal walks out to go to the other room, which John and Shaw correctly assumed as the counselor’s office.

 

“She would be back shortly.” The principal walks back in and sits down.

 

“If you don’t mind, may I ask why you chose to meet with us?”

 

“We’re looking for potential candidates to a scholarship fund that my client, Harold Crane, is starting. We’ve been travelling for a while, and when we heard about this program in Chicago, we thought “Why not?” It seems like the perfect place to look for exceptional students.” There is a knock on the door.

 

“Here’s one of our great students, Jennifer.” This wasn’t their number but Shaw and John couldn’t request the number specifically. That would be very suspicious. Shaw grabs a pen.

 

“Would it be all right to move this to the cafeteria? We’ll have more room over there.” The principal guides them out of the office, down the hall, and they entered through double doors.

 

The cafeteria is a decent size. It is only meant to cater to less than 100 students at a time, but for four people, it is huge space. There is a snap and suddenly, Shaw’s hands are covered in black ink.

 

“Where is the restroom, if you don’t mind?” Shaw asks. The principal directs her to the washroom across the double doors as John gives her this “no fair but take care” look. As she makes her way to the room, Shaw tries to think of how to go around the school to look for their number. She enters the washroom only to see their number washing her hands.

 

The number looks up, but returns to washing her hands when Shaw enters. Shaw readies her phone to clone when it fails. She quickly moves to the sink close to the number, washing the ink from her hands. She observes the number washing their hands, finding that they both fell into a common rhythm.

 

“You planning to be a doctor, kid?” Shaw comments, hoping to get the number to stay and talk to her for a bit.

 

“Huh? Oh, well, I want to, but I don’t think about that.” The number seems polite enough to offer a shy smile as she continues to wash her arm and hands. Shaw supposes that the number’s openness is due to the secure environment.

 

“Could’ve fooled me. You’re washing your hands like you’re going to perform a surgery.” Shaw hears the number let out a sad laugh and she wonders what the cause for it is. The number doesn’t continue, and Shaw remembers that the number was a senior.

 

“Any plans for college?” Shaw looks up from her hands to see the number looking down on her hands, trying to appear nonchalant.

 

“Taking some years off, depending on the circumstance.” The answer sounds as if it was an answer she has given to other people. It is meant to sound nonchalant, but it clearly doesn’t sound optimistic.

 

“Family issues?” Shaw watches the number go towards the paper towels.

 

“You could say that. Money. All that stuff.” The number gives Shaw one last friendly look before leaving. Shaw dries her hands and heads to the cafeteria.

 

John stands up the minute she walks in and she gestures outside. John gets the cue and turns to the principal and the student.

 

“Thank you very much for having us.” John says as he shook hands with both Jennifer and the principal.

 

“Thank you for visiting us. I hope that we could formally have you two and Mr. Crane over.” The principal nods to Jennifer who leaves with a smile. They get out of the cafeteria in time to see the number get out of a classroom, a scowl on her face.

 

“Ms. Kerrigan, good afternoon.” The principal greets. The number smiles politely and bows her head lightly.

 

“Good afternoon, Principal Ibis.” The student goes in the main office. The three stop at the main entrance of the office, once again shaking hands.

 

“Thank you again.” With a nod, John and Shaw head out the university building.

 

“How was the program?” Shaw asks.

 

“Finch likes it, but he doesn’t like the idea of the limited options in the program. They can only get an Associate’s in technology. While some of the kids are tech savvy, like Jennifer, I’m sure there are kids who want to do something else.”

 

“The number wants to be a doctor.” Shaw doesn’t continue or elaborate, but John nods in understanding.

 

“Maybe after we wrap this case up, Mr. Crane could take another scholar under his wing.” They look up at the street camera, and its red light blinks.

 

_\\\ Downtown Chicago, 10:45pm_

“Is she an idiot?” Shaw hisses as they follow the number walk in the streets in the middle of the night.

 

“She has a 3.98 unweighted GPA, Shaw.” John quips for fun as they follow in the shadows. There are a lot of cameras in the downtown area, but the number seems very aware of the no camera zones.

 

“It seems that this isn’t the first time she’s done this, Ms. Shaw. According to some news articles, the police have been catching a series of shooters for a while now. Confidential police reports state that the responders received phone calls at around midnight. The criminals are found unconscious, pictures of their crime and victims splayed around them, and when they awoke, they spoke about a menacing kid that beat them up.”

 

“Menacing, huh… our number’s a secret vigilante?”

 

“Perhaps, but amateurish at best compared to your skill sets. It would be best if you stay close.” Finch states as they round up the corner. They hear a scream and the two operatives immediately sprint towards it. They pause when they see their number standing before an unconscious man and the supposed victim.

 

“What the hell is Jennifer doing here? Those two got a death wish or something?” Shaw hisses angrily. They could be spending their time studying. Instead, they are prancing around the city, looking for trouble. Shaw uses her phone to listen on the two teenager’s conversation.

 

“What are you doing here?” There is genuine shock in the number’s voice.

 

“I should be asking you, Em. Who would’ve thought this was how you’ve been spending your sleepless nights? I was about to get jealous.”

 

“Shut up, and stop calling me that. It’s Emily.” The number shuffles to check on the unconscious guy’s pulse.

 

“Am I not allowed to call you that anymore?” There is a hint of sadness in the teen’s voice. Shaw and John hear the number sigh.

 

“I told you I don’t date. We were doing just fine until you kissed me.” Shaw frowns, turning to look at John who only sports a confused look. She groans inwardly. _Great_ , she thinks, _more teenage drama._

 

“I know you want me just as much as I want you. I’m special to you.” Jennifer states.

 

“Don’t delude yourself. And you better go. It’s late.”

 

“I’m not going without you. Isn’t this your last week in Chicago? Spend that time left with me. Better yet, stay with me.” Jennifer steps closer to the number, causing the number to back up a bit.

 

“Just go. I have work to do.” The number states as she sits the unconscious man on the wall and pulls out a couple of pictures from her bag. She scatters them on the man’s form, all showing him stalking women at the dead of night. Each of the women in the pictures has been found in the hospital, but the news didn’t think of covering them.

 

“Em, please.” The number looks back at Jennifer. Just then, a black van pulls up and immediately, there is mass shooting. The two teenagers are caught in the middle of crossfire.

 

“They’re going to get caught. Move in.” Shaw states as she starts shooting at the men. One by one, each falls on the ground, grasping their knees. John moves towards the numbers while Shaw moves to interrogate the men who were still conscious.

 

“Seems a little low, don’t you think? Killing kids.” She says, pointing her gun towards the only one man awake.

 

“That’s no kid. She has been hunting our people around the city. She needs to be taught a lesson.” He flinches as Shaw approaches with her gun pointed at his head. He closes his eyes but only the woman’s voice reaches him.

 

“Relax.” Shaw pulls him to his feet. His teeth are clenched due to the pain from his leg.

 

“Get out of here now. Take your buddies with you. If you don’t want them getting caught, don’t let them loose. Better yet, don’t cause trouble. You don’t exist. She doesn’t exist. If I find out that you and your buddies are still getting people involved, I’m coming after you.” Shaw says, pushing him in the van. She turns to the number with John. The number sees her.

 

“You… You were in the university today.”

 

“Cops are coming in five minutes.” Root’s voice enters through the comms.

 

“Where have you been?” Shaw asks as she gestures for the number and John to hurry back to the apartment.

 

“Aw, Sweetie. Did you miss me?” There is an unmistakable glee in her voice and Shaw can’t help but roll her eyes.

 

“Like an intestinal parasite.” She wonders if she’s said it before. From John’s reaction, she thinks she has.

 

“Mission accomplished?” The question brings a smile to Shaw’s face.

 

“Not yet. We’re bringing the number back to the apartment. Just to make sure the threats are gone.”

 

“I’ll tell Harry to clean up a bit.”

 

“I hear you loud and clear, Ms. Groves.” The comms cut off and Shaw stops in front of the car they _borrowed_ , gesturing for everyone to pile in. Shaw settles in the driver seat while John sits in front. The two teenagers sit away from each other.

 

Jennifer watches Shaw and John curiously while Emily looks out the window. Shaw meets the former’s eyes.

 

“What?”

 

“You are just like those vigilantes we used to watch on TV. You appear out of nowhere and save the day, shooting knee caps and all.” Jennifer says calmly.

 

“You’re pretty calm about all of this. This isn’t your first time in crossfire, is it?” Shaw asks, mildly curious as the girl shakes her head.

 

“It’s not. I live in a dangerous neighborhood. I’m used to it.”

 

“You forgot about the part that you’re a little psychotic.” The number’s whisper is low but tired. Jennifer is about to make a comment, one that John is pretty sure Shaw has been on the receiving end before so he decides to inquire.

 

“Answer me, you two. You attend a great school. Your principal cares about you and you both have the makings of successful students. Why are you out here cleaning up the city when you could be studying?”

 

“Was following Em. Can’t seem to get a hold of her at school.” John turns to look at the number, waiting for an explanation.

 

“Doesn’t matter.” The number starts.

 

“She is moving to LA to be with her parents and her sisters. She’s done her best to study, and I’m sure she wants to continue, but her family needs her to work after high school. I’m guessing the news broke her heart.” Finch’s voice fills the comms.

 

“Why are you doing this? You get no merit from this right? It’s not like you are acknowledged by the police.” Shaw asks. The number looks at her through the mirror.

 

“I want to save people, and since it’s not like I’m going to go to school anytime soon to make a difference, I thought I’d do it here right now.” The car jerks to a stop.

 

“Do you really believe in that delusion?” The number glares at Shaw, and as expected, no effect.

 

“Yes. I do,” the number says firmly before adding, “What do you want me to say?”

 

“That you’ve got control issues?” Jennifer points out, groaning when the number hits her arm, and she rubs the spot with a smile.

 

“You should know, whoever you are, that when life spirals out of control for kids like me, the only way to go is to find something I can control. Doing this type of work is something I can do and –”

 

“It’s just quick gratification then. Is that it? The adrenaline, the reckless regard for your life? Because then you can feel that your life is in your hands.” The number frowns but does not deny it.

 

“… You’re a real idiot. For someone as smart as you, I expected more.” Shaw turns the car off, parked in front of their cover apartment. John herds the teenagers as Shaw walks ahead. The number walks up to Shaw, demanding an answer.

 

“How am I an idiot?”

 

“You know yourself that doing this type of job puts you in even more risk than an F on your report card.”

 

“Of course I do, but what am I supposed to do? Wait?! I’ve done that for seven years and counting! I’ve been trying to keep it together. I’m trying my best.” To others, it looks like a mother and child having an argument. The four enter an elevator.

 

“You’re trying your best in the wrong thing! It’s not just about you! Everyone waits for change. You think seven years is a long time? Ask those people who never saw change because they were too busy trying to pretend they could control everything.” Shaw says angrily, surprising the number into silence.

 

“Do your best with what you have now. What use would you be to your family if you wind up dead one night because you decided to go against the wrong people? Do you not care for your family at all?”

 

“Of course I do. My family’s priority is to put family first. I need to work so that I could pay for my sister’s studies. If she stops studying, she’s going to get sent back to our country.”

 

“Did you tell them what you want to do? You can’t sacrifice your happiness for family because at one point, your family will be gone and you will have nothing. I’m not saying put yourself before your family. I’m saying have a place for your own self.” Shaw says. John watches the scene unfold. He turns his head to find Jennifer listening intently, as if waiting for the final answer. The elevator door opens and they immediately head for their room.

 

“Isn’t that what I’ve been doing now? I’m doing something I want do.” Shaw shakes her head before reaching behind her for her gun. She points it at the number who freezes initially before sporting a taunting look. Jennifer runs forward to grab the number’s arm to calm her down. The door opens and John looks up, wondering how to explain this, sighing in relief when Root gestures them in.

 

“Take this inside. People can see us here.” John says, gesturing for the teenagers to go in the room with Shaw going in first. Root gives John an inquiring look and he only motions for her to go in as well. They find Finch trying to calm Shaw who points the gun back towards the kid. This time, Jennifer is in front of Shaw.

 

“Put the gun down.” She says but Shaw looks straight at the number. She turns the gun so that it is pointed towards her.

 

“Shoot me.”

 

“Shaw!” There is panic in Root’s voice, but she catches Shaw’s look, reassuring her that all will be fine.

 

“Shoot me.” She repeats. The number shakes her head.

 

“Shoot me. You want to do this type of job, right? You bring bad people to justice, right? The four of us have been involved in crimes all over the world, committing crimes you never even know about. The only way you’re going to bring us in is by shooting me, and him.” Shaw says, gesturing towards John who gives her an indignant look.

 

“I don’t need to shoot you to do that.” The number states, but reluctance in her expression tells Shaw that she will not even attempt to try and take Shaw and the others in, not that she could.

 

“Perhaps not now, but there will come a day when you will have no other choice but to kill your target,” Shaw states, holding the gun properly and pointing it to the ground, “and you will have killed your first victim.”

 

“It will destroy you.” Shaw states, her expression neutral and unfeeling. The number moves forward towards Shaw, looking up at Shaw.

 

“What if I think it’s okay if it destroys me? It’s my life and I’m saving people, aren’t I?” The number asks, and Shaw finds that the number is imploringly asking for a new path.

 

“Then you don’t deserve to save people. There are people born for this kind of job, kid.” Shaw says, watching the number turn to Root, John, Harold, then back at Shaw.

 

“And you’re not one of them.”

 

 

_\\\ Number’s apartment, 3:59am_

 

John sits inside the car while Shaw guides the teens up to the number’s apartment.

 

“Go up.” The number says to Jennifer.

 

“Keys?” Jennifer offers, not really wanting to go before her.

 

“Heard you picking my locks the other day. Just go in, please.” The number says. Jennifer moves to squeeze her hand before going in. Shaw waits for the number to speak, but when she doesn’t speak, Shaw gives her an answer she thinks is appropriate.

 

“There are many types of soldiers. There are soldiers who fight in the front lines, psychotic and reckless, sometimes angry or have a tendency to brood. There are also soldiers who stay in the barracks, providing back up to the soldiers out in the field. I’m sure you hear about these types all the time.” Shaw doesn’t wait for confirmation before continuing.

 

“But, there are also soldiers who encourage the rest, telling them to keep on fighting, to look forward and hope for a better future.” Shaw hopes that the number understands. The number contemplates her words and gives her a smile.

 

“Thanks, Shaw.” Emily says, and Shaw is pleased to see hope shining in the eyes of the kid. She nods.

 

“Don’t forget who you are and what you can do. You can pretend to have control over your life by dangling it in front of death, or you can take real control by living in the present. You’re not seeing the good things. And I’m telling you now, the things worthwhile? They’re right in front of you.”

 

The number looks back at the apartment before smiling lightly back at Shaw. Emily nods in thanks before going up the apartment. Shaw moves towards the car and gets in only to see John’s brotherly look, or as brotherly as John can be.

 

“Shut up.” Shaw says with no venom, looking out the window as John drives.

 

Shaw knows what it’s like to have no control over something, and to want that something desperately until it becomes a source of hate and anger. It is easier to be mad at the world, even to God, when it feels like the world and God turned their backs against us.

 

However, Shaw also knows that she’s been angry for a long time because that was the only thing she could easily feel. She did her best in other things, leaving emotions in her peripheral vision, and she excelled in everything she did. Who would have known that the life she chose to live, her seemingly irrelevant life with feelings muted, would attract the eyes of a mostly-all-seeing AI, a reclusive billionaire, a brooding CIA agent, a sweet and understanding Belgian Malinois, a dirty-yet-clean NYPD cop, and an endearingly devoted (don’t tell her that), psychotic hacker, all of whom she now views as family?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. 
> 
> Here's today's chapter. Long, isn't it? Last chapter will be up tomorrow or Sunday. 
> 
> I'm playing catch up tomorrow with season 5 after some work so it will be a great day.
> 
> AOHURZ, Gn0sis.


	10. \\I Just Want You

_\\\ Shaw’s apartment, NY_

Shaw enters with Root following closely. The team had boarded an early flight so that they could get back from Chicago. Since it was a weekend, the team didn’t need to go to their respective cover jobs. John drives off with Finch to give him a ride back home after dropping the two women in Shaw’s apartment.

 

“Tell me something, Sam.” Root starts as she removes her boots, her hand on Shaw’s shoulder to keep her stable. Shaw grunts, a hand on the hacker’s elbow.

 

“I know that our job is dangerous, and believe me, I wouldn’t have allowed her to join our little band of misfits.” She hears Shaw let out a chuckle at the term and looks up at the operative.

 

“Why were you so angry with what she was doing?” Shaw is quiet. Root is still looking down at her a little. Even without her boots, the hacker is still a little taller than her. She lets go of the hacker’s elbow to remove both their coats, busying her hands as she speaks.

 

“She’s just a kid. She can still turn back.” Root waits for her to continue.

 

“She may see the death and destruction around her, and those things may bring her down. The world may seem like it’s against her for this moment, where she cannot be herself for the sake of other’s happiness.”

 

“Sounds like a bad case of altruism.” Root comments quietly, earning a smirk from Shaw.

 

“But that innocent kid she’s buried deep inside the pain and sacrifices she’s made, it is what is keeping her hoping. We sacrifice things for the people we care about. We sacrifice parts of ourselves to protect the parts of our own that we cannot afford to lose.” Shaw says as she looks at Root. The hacker holds her hands in encouragement.

 

“The world needs people like her. She may have strayed a little, but her moral compass is as straight as Finch’s. There may not be a place for nice and innocent people like her in this world, because you know, they are bound to end up dead for doing the right thing. However, their stories inspire the next ones to come. That’s why sometimes, our job is worth it, because not only are we fighting for our own, but we’re fighting for kids like her.”

 

“Going all idealist on me, Sameen?” Root says, though her eyes clearly reflect that she appreciates this new found optimism.

 

“Don’t count on it. I’m pragmatic.” Shaw says, pulling Root in for a kiss. The hacker places her hands on the operative’s hips as she feels Shaw’s hand going up to her nape. Shaw squeezes lightly the muscle, and Root moans as she feels the tension being massaged away.

 

Shaw kisses down her neck, her hand pulling at little at Root’s hair so her head would tilt up to reveal the smooth skin. Shaw’s bites are light and it isn’t what Root is used to nor is it something she expects. When Shaw brings her hands down to her stomach, caressing, Root squirms unconsciously, wanting a little roughness and urgency. She doesn’t mean to do it, but Shaw pulls away.

 

“Sam?” She says, searching for Shaw’s eyes, wondering why she’s stopped. Shaw is looking straight at her collarbone, the part revealed by her blouse. Root returns her hands on Shaw’s hips, urging her to answer, while Shaw runs her fingers at the exposed skin.

 

“I don’t remember, Root. And I don’t know if I’ll remember.” Root looks confused for a bit before realizing what Shaw is talking about. She doesn’t speak, letting Shaw continue her thoughts.

 

“I don’t know if the Machine told you, but she asked me if I wanted to see every available footage of what it has about my life… I didn’t look at any of them. I want to know who I am for everyone, for myself, for Finch, John, Lionel, even you, so that you guys won’t get that look whenever I don’t remember a memory we shared. In the end, I feel like I learned more about myself through you guys than I would have if I watched those recordings.” Root frowns when Shaw slightly pushes her away, allowing some distance between them.

 

“I’ve been putting off this thing between us because I wanted to see if I can remember on my own. I have flashes, but I never really get the full picture.”

 

“I don’t think it’s enough nor is it right for you to wait like this. You know I don’t do whatever this is. I can’t give you what you want. What I can give you… well, it’s not enough.” When Shaw stops there, Root holds onto her tightly, pulling her in her arms.

 

“I need you, Sameen.” She whispers into Shaw’s ear, feeling the Persian shiver. She pulls back but Shaw doesn’t look at her.

 

“Look at me.” Root reaches to turn Shaw’s face towards her, seeking out the operative’s deep brown eyes.

 

“Sameen…” She calls out Shaw’s name as she uses her free hand to pull the operative’s hips to her own, hoping to get Shaw to look at her this time. Root gives her an intense gaze when she turns to look at the hacker.

 

“I’m not going to lie to you. Even after all these months since you came back, a part of me still wishes for the you who never forgot. I long to touch and be touched by the you who promised that four alarm fire in the Stock Exchange. Some of my needs may desire you in ways that may be a little… violent compared to how people normally are but-”

 

“We’re not normal anyway.” Shaw finishes, nodding in understanding as she bumps her forehead with Root. The hacker smiles, tilting her head to kiss Shaw lightly.

 

“Don’t get me wrong. There’s something very intense about what you’ve been doing. You let me cuddle with you, be domestic from time to time. You get so passionate but oddly gentle when you touch me. It’s not a four alarm fire, but it’s like the pressure that builds up inside a star before a supernova, only – you know – faster.”

 

Root starts unbuttoning Shaw’s white shirt, pushing it slowly down the Persian’s shoulders. She leans in to bite at Shaw’s collarbone, feeling the operative pushing forward and a hand cradles Root’s head to pull her closer.

 

“I still want your four alarm fire, but more importantly, I want you and I will take whatever you can give me.” She takes Shaw’s hand, placing it on the button of her own jeans. She smiles encouragingly when she feels the button give way.

 

“I just want you, Sameen. I just want you and nothing else. That’s more than enough for me.” There are more words left unsaid, but they echo through so loudly they are unmistakably heard. The words seem to act as a trigger, and suddenly, Root finds herself being roughly pushed to the wall and thoroughly kissed by the sociopath.

 

As her back makes contact with the wall, Root groans at the arousing pain, and Shaw lets out a moan of appreciation at the sound. Root’s hands come up to pull Shaw’s hair tie off, burying her fingers in dark locks. She feels Shaw biting at the tender area of her neck, nibbling at her jaw, and sucking at her pulse point.

 

Her hips buck and she feels Shaw push their hips together, trapping hers between the wall and Shaw’s. When Shaw slips a leg in between hers, Root moans loudly at the opportunity to grind down on the strong muscle. Before she could do so, Shaw’s hands caress her thighs before hoisting her up. Root automatically brings her legs around Shaw’s form.

 

She wraps her arms around Shaw’s shoulders to bring their lips together in a bruising kiss. She feels herself getting lost in the roughness and gasps when her back feels the soft mattress of the bed. Shaw is still kissing her lips, occasionally biting and sending pulses of heat within her.

 

Shaw pulls away to untuck Root’s silky blue blouse, and she takes hold of the top hems and pulls them apart, causing the fabric to rip. The sound seems to startle Root from mindless pleasure, causing her to gasp loudly.

 

Shaw feels a smirk on her face, but it is overshadowed by irritation. The ripping of the shirt is meant to reveal Root’s body to her; unfortunately, it only gave way to the pale skin between her breasts. She rips it all the way down, keeping Root occupied by pushing her thigh roughly in between the hacker’s legs. Root lets out a whimper which turns into a drawn out moan at the feel of Shaw’s firm thigh grinding at her sensitive core.

 

The silk fabric slipping down the hacker’s shoulders cools the overheating skin. Root wants to feel Shaw’s lips again so she tries to pull the operative back to her, sitting up as she did so. It proves difficult when Shaw pushes the ripped blouse off her shoulders, pushing down at her. Root chases Shaw’s lips and Shaw follows after realizing what Root wants.

 

Shaw allows Root to lead the kiss, intent on getting the hacker topless. She quickly unhooks the black bra and removes it quickly all the while distracting Root again with the firm pressure in between her legs.

 

Root whines when Shaw pulls away from the kiss, irritation and relief setting in when her jeans are removed, leaving her in her underwear. Suddenly, she finds that Shaw is still somewhat completely dressed, her white button up open but not quite off her shoulders.

 

“This comes off now.” Root whispers in a low voice against Shaw’s lips and the operative brings their lips again as she pushes the white shirt down and off of Shaw’s form.

 

Shaw pulls away from their hungry kisses to bite along and down Root’s chest. She bites lightly at the smooth skin of Root’s breast, sucking after and licking at the exposed skin. She takes one hard, erect nipple into her mouth and sucks hard.

 

Root arches her back at the sensation, unaware of how her hips are continuing to grind against Shaw’s thighs. Shaw pinches at the other deliciously and painfully as she bites the erogenous zone in her mouth. The operative moves away from her chest in favor of whispering in Root’s ear.

 

“You’re so wet.” Shaw whispers against her good ear and Root bites at her lips to keep herself from letting out an unrestrained, appreciative groan. She does, however, let out something akin to a growl when Shaw moves her thigh away from Root’s core.

 

“Sameen…” Root means to warn Shaw not to stop when a finger ghosts over her core, the wet fabric against her drenched sex, shutting her up. She tries to swallow her moan, but it proves impossible when Shaw starts rubbing two fingers against her wetness. Her hips start to grind on Shaw’s fingers, not quite as satisfying since Shaw is not firmly rubbing against her sensitive sex.

 

Shaw finds herself getting wet at the sight of Root in uninhibited pleasure. She also finds it satisfying to see the usually confident flirt coming apart under her, the hacker’s body desiring her in ways she didn’t think is possible. The sounds increasing in dynamics, and moans and groans and Root’s breath follow one after the other. While she enjoys the sounds she’s manage to pull out of Root, she brings herself down to shut Root up with a languid kiss as she puts her hand in Root’s drenched underwear and strokes the quivering muscles.

 

A surprised high pitched moan turns into hums of appreciation at the feeling of Shaw caressing and pinching her labia. She continues moving against Shaw’s hands, trying to get her to push a couple of fingers inside. She feels Shaw smile before two fingers are pushed inside of her, and Root tears her mouth away from Shaw’s to let out a silent scream. A small sound of her scream reaches Shaw’s ear, encouraging her to pick up the pace.

 

Root could feel her hips matching the thrusts of Shaw’s fingers, her hands grip at the sheets tightly.

 

“Sameen…” Root’s moans are increasingly getting louder and louder as the pressure in her core starts causing her nerve endings to tingle. Shaw moves her body closer so she could feel the hacker’s lithe body against her own, providing a little more contact that she knows will send Root over the edge soon.

 

At the feeling of Shaw’s hot body against hers, Root opens her eyes at the last second, seeing Shaw’s intensely electrifying gaze, before her mind goes blank and her eyes close. Shaw keeps hers open to relish Root’s expression as she comes, her tight body unwinding in a mind-blowingly satisfying moment.

 

Root feels her body humming, unmoving, her breath coming in and out long and slow and shuddering. She feels Shaw kiss her neck surprisingly gentle, and wanting to see Shaw, Root lazily opens her eyes as her body gradually calms down. She lifts a hand from the sheets to run her fingers through Shaw’s hair, thanking her by massaging her scalp.

 

Root laughs when she hears something like a purr, pulling Shaw up to kiss her slowly but deeply. When she pulls away, she looks up at Shaw, who still has her pants on and her bra still intact.

 

“Give me a warning next time so I could at least get you naked.” Root says, enjoying the way Shaw’s eyes close as she smiles. When the operative opens her eyes, there is a mischievous glint present that makes Root wonder what is going on in Shaw’s mind.

 

“I’m not done yet.” Shaw tells her, removing Root’s underwear from her body, completely leaving her naked under Shaw.

 

“Oh? But I want to see you lose control.” Root licks her lips unconsciously when Shaw removes her pants, the operative’s body still in between Root’s legs. She tries to sit up, her hands helping Shaw remove the article of clothing. She hooks her fingers down the loops and pulls down as Shaw holds onto Root’s shoulders for balance. She takes off Shaw’s underwear and flicks the hooks of Shaw’s bra, throwing it down the pile next to the bed.

 

“Okay. Make this one count then.” This was all Shaw says before she grinds her hips against Root’s, eliciting a moan and putting oil in the spark in Root’s body, starting a fire going for both of them.

 

“I’m flattered, Sameen. You feel great down there.” There is a coy smile in Root’s face as she watches Shaw set a pace for their hips, feeling wetness that is similar to her own.  

 

“It’ll feel better if you touch me instead of just lying there.” Shaw comments, reaching out for one of Root’s hands so she could feel the hacker’s hands on her body.

 

“I think you’ll feel better if you let me top you.” Root says, sitting up causing Shaw to move to accommodate Root’s new position. The hacker pushes her down and is pleased to see excitement flashing in Shaw’s eyes.

 

Root presses a demanding kiss on Shaw’s lips, to which Shaw fights for fun. Their kiss turns something like a game, to dominate the other’s mouth and make the other moan in pleasure. When Root bites at her lips, Shaw decides that kissing is overrated right now because she wants to experience fire burning within her so she moans, acquiescing a small victory to the hacker.

 

“No need to be impatient, Sameen.” Root chuckles, kissing down Shaw’s neck, giving her similar bites only rougher and more possessive. As Shaw revels in it, the operative thinks it’s very much like Root to mark her up.

 

Shaw groans in surprise when Root touches her sensitive core, her muscles tensing to feel Root’s fingers inside her. Root leans down to kiss the operative’s lips.

 

“Is this going to be enough for you?” Root asks, her breathing a little ragged at the hot feel of Shaw’s quivering muscles. Shaw’s breathing is uneven but she remains quiet, enjoying Root’s company the way she always does.

 

“Or do you want something more?” At this, Root curls her fingers to massage a spot inside Shaw that has her body tensing even more. Shaw’s hands leave the sheets in favor of Root’s body. The hacker smiles at the feeling of being pulled up, Shaw’s hands going around her back as she continues to massage Shaw’s sensitive muscles.

 

Shaw doesn’t speak, but her mouth seems to be begging for a kiss, and when she opens her eyes to look at Root, the hacker couldn’t help but lean in for a kiss, easily dominating Shaw’s mouth with little resistance.

 

“I’ll help you remember, Sameen.” She says against Shaw’s lips before Shaw kisses her roughly, trying to keep quiet. Typical.

 

“You’d get so hot when you touch me, feel how wet I am for you.” Root says, slowing down when she feels Shaw almost there. Shaw opens her eyes in a familiar glare that causes Root’s body to burn.

 

“You’d get so riled up when I moan in your ear, hear how you’re making me feel good with your fingers and your tongue.” She feels Shaw’s muscles tightly holding on to her fingers and Root smiles adoringly at Shaw.

 

“You love restraining me for build-up, but you’d remove my restraints the few seconds before I come because you want me to cling onto you in mindless pleasure.” Shaw tries to keep looking at Root, but she feels her body reacting to the truth that is being said.

 

“I’ll make you remember the things you forgot, Sameen. If they don’t come back, then I’ll suppose we’ll have fun creating new ones, discovering each other’s secrets again.” Root quickens her pace, her fingers slipping in and out of Shaw’s sex. Shaw struggles to keep her eyes at Root, but soon the pressure becomes too impossible to bear, she closes her eyes, a show of vulnerability.

 

She mildly remembers Root’s lips against hers when she comes, and for a brief moment, she can only feel Root’s body on top of hers. As her breathing evens out, Shaw opens her eyes at the feeling of Root kissing her, whispering things her mind still needs to comprehend as her senses calm down.

 

“… you, Sameen.” This is the only thing her hearing picks up clearly, but Shaw remembers the words Root mouthed. She doesn’t know whether it is good that she didn’t hear it, but Shaw thinks seeing it in the hacker’s lips does the same thing as hearing it.

 

Shaw pulls Root’s head down to kiss her lightly before following it with a languid one. She hears her body humming in contentment, knowing that their recent activity caused her body to listen to whispers of sleep. She doesn’t want to sleep yet though, because she wants to see Root come again.

 

However, when Root moves to cover them both with the thin summer sheet, Shaw figures that it could wait after a few minutes, even an hour or so.

 

Root settles at the pillow next to her so they are face to face, her left hand on Shaw’s right shoulder, Shaw’s left arm under the hacker’s neck. Shaw feels Root’s body relaxing on her side, only a small space between their skins. She closes her eyes and curls her left arm so that Root is inclined to move closer. She feels Root’s smile against her neck as the hacker curls up to her.

 

While Shaw is lulled to sleep by Root’s presence next to her, the hacker moves her head so that it is resting on the operative’s chest, right above her heart. The beat is steady and alive and strangely one with her own, and Root thinks about how much she means what she told Shaw earlier – that all she wants is Shaw – and she closes her eyes with a smile on her face as sleep enters her mind, joining the Persian in a long due rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys.
> 
> Here's the bonus chapter, the end of this story. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Ready for Shaw's return on Monday? I know I am. 
> 
> I'll see you guys in a different story soon.


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